In the Deadly Nightshade Family
by RuthieGreen
Summary: W & J end up in Hamilton. Ont. to solve the mystery of a bloody death at a garden party with only each other to rely on & only a few hours in which to do it. Set in the house where a lot of MM scenes are filmed & where the MME16 was held. Thank you to the ladies who organized the event and Lovemondays for her wonderful details about the building. Hope you like the history & story.
1. Chapter 1

**In The** _ **Deadly Nightshade**_ **Family**

 _ **Dramatis personae**_

' _ **The Towers'**_ _– A stately home, built in Hamilton Ontario in 1895 for Mr. Merit Taggert and his family; setting for a charity fundraiser. It is a 'castle on a hill,' a compilation of several architectural styles created inside and out to make an impact on all who encounter it. (If you went to MME16 you will recognize this building…I have used the original house for a starring role)_

 _ **Caliber 'Caleb' Burke**_ _— age 30. A smooth Southern gentleman from Virginia, up in Hamilton to learn about the tobacco manufacturing and distribution business._

 _ **Dominion Police Commander Francis Broadstreet—**_ _Head of DP security detail._

 _ **Detective William Henry Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary-**_ _age 40._ _Possessing of a keen intellect, he is a science-minded, creative problem-solver and tinker-er with devices which help solve crimes. Husband to Dr. Ogden, he has the most compelling brown gaze under thick black lashes. These eyes are only for his wife and he would do anything for her, while at the same time often being baffled by her._

 _ **Doctor Julia Ogden-**_ _approaching 40 (but a lady never tells!)_ _Psychiatrist, pathologist and suffragist;_ _Guest of Mrs. Prudence Carter and wife to Detective Murdoch. She is tall, blonde and loves her dark and handsome husband, while occasionally being frustrated by his emotional obtuseness._

 _ **Mr. August-**_ _Butler for the Taggert household. He came from the States with the mother of Miss Charity Taggert; he treasures punctiliousness._

 _ **Mr. Arthur Percy Sherwood-**_ _Subtle, long-suffering Commissioner of the Dominion Police force of Canada, the national security arm of government. He will eventually be knighted for his service to his country._

 _ **Mr. Endeavour Taggert-**_ _age 84 and Patriarch of the Taggert Family; lives next door in 'Myrtle House.' He made his money in tobacco. A widower for 59 years, he outlived his only son, Merit. A demanding man, he has a firm grasp on his business and family, which will have to be pried out of his cold, dead hands before he'll let go of either._

 _ **Mrs. Prudence Carter-**_ _age 40. Widow and granddaughter of Endeavour Taggert; lives at the 'Towers' and is hostess for a charity fundraiser. Childhood friend of Julia Ogden. She is an intelligent, capable and thoroughly modern woman who is conflicted because she wants love and recognition from her very old-fashioned grandfather._

 _ **Miss Genevieve Latcher**_ _– age 39. Small and feisty, one of only a handful of female photographers trying to make a living with her work; acquaintance of Mrs. Carter._

 _ **Mr. Trevor Howard-**_ _Executive in the Taggert tobacco company and engaged to Miss Joy Taggert, Endeavour's_ _youngest granddaughter. He is as interested in his upcoming nuptials as he is in joining the firm as a partner; he is already living at the 'Towers' as well and plans on staying on after the wedding._

 _ **Mr. Gregory Sanford—**_ _Makes his living taking chances; befriended Caliber Burke_

 _ **THE OTHER HALF-SISTERS—**_ _all daughters of Merit Taggert with different, deceased, mothers:_

 _ **Mercy Pomfret-**_ _age 33. Also widowed and a granddaughter of Endeavour Taggert. She mourns both her husband and her young son; living at the 'Towers'._

 _ **Charity Taggert-**_ _age 27. Never married. Living at the 'Towers' in high dungeon about her life as an old maid._

 _ **Joy Taggert-**_ _age 17. Raised primarily by her older sister Prudence after Joy's mother perished. Currently planning her wedding; living at the 'Towers.'_

 **# # #**

 **Prologue:**

 **The clock struck twelve notes of its tune** as Caliber "Caleb" Burke stared intently at his reflection in the long looking-glass, moving side to side to take in the cut of his new suit and the shine on his brogans. A thin build and high forehead amplified his height which was just shy of five feet, eleven inches. He brushed long, tapered hands over his dark carmine, tone-on-tone embroidered waistcoat and fluffed his red and black silk cravat until he was pleased with the result.

 _Look at me,_ he chuckled. _Six months ago, I couldn't buy a hummingbird on a string for a nickel, as my grand-pappy would have said._

Pushing one end of his watch chain through the proper button hole and placing the other end in his pocket, he patted it in place before squaring his shoulders. Caleb approached the glass to look more closely, smoothing his wavy, chestnut hair behind his ears and fingering the mustache over his fine lips. He carefully examined his large eyes, level brows and tanned complexion burnished from almost 30 years under Virginia's sun, and frowned. He knew he was too dark-skinned to be fashionable this far 'up North' but for his part he was satisfied his exotic looks were to his benefit and quirked his mouth in a sardonic grin. He'd used his impeccable social graces and unfamiliarity with Hamilton Society as a method for gaining a certain kind of sympathy, having no trouble at all attracting the fairer sex, and outlets for his _other_ ambitions… _Bless their hearts_. He chortled to himself again in anticipation. This afternoon's garden party and civic fund-raiser were going to be a sort of unofficial launch into the city's most rarified social strata and he could not wait.

Smiling broadly back at himself and with a flowing drawl, he addressed the rakish image before him: "There. I think that will get some notice!"

 **# # #**

 **"** _ **Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary,"**_ he said, clearly frustrated. "Please tell me what is going on here! How many times, to how many different persons and in how many different ways must I announce myself?" William was rapidly losing his composure with the Dominion Police officer blocking his passage through the tall wrought-iron gates surrounding his destination. The destination, he reminded the guards more than once, to which he'd been expressly invited, on appointment. Eventually the young copper beech and other trees in the landscape will shade the estate, but for now he adjusted his homburg seeking a tiny amount of relief from the bright sun. _I've been barred from better places than this_ , he sighed to himself. _At least I am now talking to the head of the perimeter detail._ "I am not a guest at the event; that is why my name is not on the guest list. Rather, I have an agreement with Mr. Endeavour Taggert to interview him regarding an important murder investigation and he is expecting me." The emphasis, in his clear baritone voice, was on _'murder._ ' He checked his timepiece pointedly... "Fifteen minutes ago, in fact."

Officer Broadstreet appeared to be intelligent despite his bulk, so William waited until the other man signaled surrender. "I will accompany you to the door, Detective, but I hope you understand I cannot discuss anything beyond that we are here to discreetly secure the property."

William shot him a look at the word "discreetly" and Broadstreet managed not to blush at such a ridiculous pronouncement: The entire gated property was shut down tightly with DP or Pinkerton's at every entrance, proclaiming to all and sundry that there was something very special going on with very important people inside the multi-turreted, red-brick-and-sandstone house, perched on a prominent rise at the corner of King and Queen Streets.

William traversed the walkway and gained the stone steps to knock on a pair of black coffin doors, held in place with enormous iron hinges, each door decorated with a large diamond pattern in relief. Above him was a Roman arch with two facing, rampant Griffons, and _Divitiae in Domo Mea_ carved in the Potsdam sandstone over the entrance. _So this is the house that "tobacco" built_ , he observed to himself as he let his gaze wander over the building's protuberances, towers and quixotic roofline. He was getting a better appreciation for the engineering side of constructing a home now that he and Julia were moving forward with their house, since an architect was being asked to translate his model home into actual scaled-up building plans. _It turns out roofs are harder than they look,_ he groused to himself.

When no one immediately answered, Officer Broadstreet, eager to get back to his duties, took a turn pounding on the wood, using his meaty fist. The right-hand door swung abruptly inward, nearly pitching the officer forward towards a small vestibule and into the arms of the slender woman who held the door. The woman's bright cornflower-coloured eyes were fixed beyond the large officer who was trying to extricate himself from her grasp with many embarrassed apologies, and on to the detective, who stood gape-mouthed on the step.

"William!" she asked, her voice pitching up in surprise. "Whatever are you doing here?"

" _Julia?"_

 **-Chapter One-**

 **"Perfect timing, detective."** Julia said brightly, much to the astonishment of both men. She pulled the doors open to admit them, then firmly closed and latched them behind her.

"Julia?" William asked again as he removed his hat, trying to take it all in at once: he knew she was in Hamilton for a few days visiting her friend, Mrs. Prudence Carter, but was shocked to find her in the role of Butler at the Taggert home. More than that, she was wearing the most intriguing gown of gauzy fabric in a muted ocean-blue colour that made her eyes even prettier than usual. The unfamiliar garment had no obvious structure to it, falling from wide shoulders to just above her toes with a thick, soft belt at the waist. The whole effect took him completely off guard. "What are you doing here?" He started to kiss her on the cheek, but held back considering the Dominion Police Officer was right there. Before allowing her time to answer, he peppered her with another question to satisfy his curiosity: "And what is so perfect about the timing?"

Officer Broadstreet tried to interject to regain control of the situation, clearing his throat. "Miss… er.. You know this gentleman? He says he is a Toronto Detective and has an appointment with Mr. Taggert. Can you confirm this?"

Julia flicked her gaze from one face to the next and snorted lightly. "Officer…?" she asked, prompting him to supply is name.

"Broadstreet, Miss."

"Officer Broadstreet, of course I know him. Detective Murdoch is my husband!" She said this with a fond smile, then her slight amusement faded. "Gentlemen, we have a small problem." She backed up, away from the entrance and into the wide oak-trimmed foyer, allowing both men to view the central hall. On the right was a large, elongated yellow-brick hearth, with a slab of white and ochre onyx for its mantle. Immediately to the left was a small library with fine windows suitable for admitting reading light, completely paneled in blonde gumwood with a large mirror above the fireplace. Two other rooms followed on the left, opposite an angled staircase off the hall, also completely covered in a veritable forest of quarter-sawn oak on the floor, walls, even the hexagonally-coffered ceiling, consisting of perhaps a half-mile of built-up trim-work for the several rooms, hall and staircase. Both men kept their expectant eyes firmly pinned on her, but she saw William wrinkling his nose.

Officer Broadstreet made the first move. "Mrs. Murdoch, what is the nature of this problem and would you know if Mr. Taggert is available to keep his appointment…?"

William inhaled for breath to correct him, but Julia crossed over and extended her hand, forcing Broadstreet to shake it in greeting. "It is Doctor Julia Ogden, Officer." She backed even further away and motioned them to come forward past the fireplace to reveal a spot of chaos amidst the otherwise staid and properly proportioned space, designed to show off the owner's wealth and taste. "The problem, is this…"

Both men stopped in their tracks. Two bodies were on display, one face up on the floor with no obvious wound and one impaled face down, from stomach through the back, on what William took to be one of a pair of bronze electrified statues, topping a hefty oak newel post. "Good Lord!" declared Officer Broadstreet. His eyes were wide and his face drained of colour surveying the gory scene and the victims.

"Two men dead?" William came forward cautiously to get a better look, giving the sign of the cross in blessing. He looked at Julia for an explanation, careful to not disturb the utterly appalling crime scene. There was copious amounts of blood on the stairs and stairwell's expensive wall-paper, running in a small stream to pool at the bottom of the steps. William recognized the smell of bowel and blood that teased his nose when he came into the house.

Julia gestured to the tall, angular man in a black frock coat lying face up on the floor. "No, not two. The butler, Mr. August, is still breathing. He appears to have merely fainted and then knocked himself out. He has quite a nasty contusion on the back of his head, consistent with hitting the floor…a concussion perhaps." She looked innocently in William's direction before her next comment. "Some people can't stand the sight of a little blood, I guess." Then she frowned thoughtfully. "Although…I suppose he could have been assaulted by a person or persons unknown, but we will have to get him awake to learn the truth. Do either of you have any smelling salts on you?"

William immediately took charge. "We must call the Hamilton police, right away. I assume this just happened? Or you just happened on the scene?" He looked around for a telephone. He spied one in the library and started off for it when Officer Broadstreet, who had not been as respectful as William of the blood spatter while he was checking out the victims, stopped him.

"No," Broadstreet declared. "As the commanding officer of the Dominion Police security detail, I am taking control of the situation, and as for right now, we are not calling the local authorities, at least not until I confer with my superior. It's a matter of…"

" _National security_?" William and Julia asked in unison, causing Broadstreet to do a double take and William and Julia to roll their eyes, unimpressed.

Broadstreet dithered a moment, clearly debating if it would be better to leave the two of them with the body, call another officer into the house, or send one of them to fetch his boss. None of the choices seemed wise. "Let us concentrate on keeping anyone and everyone out of this area and getting Mr. August upright and talking, as well as his wounds tended."

William and Julia looked at each other for a brief exchange, seeking mutual agreement. They had been at unexpectedly strange odds recently over building their home and pursuing adoption - neither having realized just how stressful and frustrating the whole process entailed, and to have thought they could do both at once without a problem had been a serious miscalculation. William and Julia's personal psychological adjustments post the ordeal with Eva Pearce had not helped matters either. Conversation had become awkward between them resulting in a bi-lateral retreat into intellectualization or awkward speechlessness. Fits and starts on endless house plans, purchasing the land and financing the construction, adoption paperwork and uncomfortable interviews with disapproving orphanage board members…even two determined, organized and loving partners such as themselves experienced sandpaper-moments between them under the combined pressure.

Julia was rethinking about exactly how she wanted to become a mother, but was not ready to discuss that with William. And as much as she adored her husband, she could only take so much information about the fluid dynamics of state-of-the-art plumbing and the physical conduction properties of potential radiant-heat flooring materials….all his nattering-on used to fill the silences either gave her a headache or a desire for sherry. Julia implied she needed a break from her hectic work schedule at the morgue and the asylum. She knew William was intelligent enough to infer she really needed a break from their tension and his obsessive plans for their shared future, so when the opportunity to come down to Hamilton presented itself to Julia, she thought it was a perfect excuse to unwind the tension between them and each get some precious solo time to relax. Julia knew it made William unhappy for her to (even symbolically) leave him, but as he could not stop her, off she went and he was forced to readjust his personal plans as well. Even when annoyed at him, thinking about her husband could give Julia a lift of pleasure… _He did make certain the night before I left was memorable…no conversation required._

Never-the-less she had quite looked forward to her mini-vacation in Hamilton, escaping the vagaries of her professional and personal life in the pursuit of "Good Works" in the comforts of that city's high Society. She was therefore supremely irritated at present: _Of course a murder would intrude!_ Julia took in a long breath, held it, then nodded back at him in acceptance as she exhaled.

"Right, then," William said once he was certain Julia was together with him on this; it was comforting to know they were going to take a team approach. _Whatever is was going to be,_ he told himself _._ "I will assist Dr. Ogden with Mr. August if you need to secure the other doors. I happen to have some smelling salts…"

While the DP officer checked out several sets of doors to close off the central hall, William and Julia conferred in hushed tones while trying to bring Mr. August around. In answer to William's question about her presence in the house, Julia explained: "You knew I was staying in Hamilton with Prudence…Mrs. Carter, and today is the event I told you about. Prudence is Endeavour Taggert's eldest granddaughter and the nominal hostess for a rather large party taking place in their garden as we speak. There are two hundred or more of the richest, most politically-connected individuals in Hamilton and beyond, who are here to be persuaded to do something about improving health care for mothers and infants. Prudence asked me to be here to help her lobby specifically for maternal health needs."

William retrieved a small object from his jacket and broke open the phial of ammonia carbonate under the butler's nose, waving the acrid scent around. "And all this…?" he asked, meaning the bodies.

Julia exhaled, and slapped Mr. August's round cheeks as the man started to gasp and cough. "Prudence asked me to come inside and fetch her fan. I came in from the garden, through the ballroom and into the hall and, well… there they were. I took the time to check Mr. August's pulse. The other man was clearly well-past life." She grimaced. "I was on the way to use the telephone myself when I heard the door. So I opened it and there, much to my surprise, you were! So, what did bring you here, William?"

"I am here to interview Mr. Taggert in connection with the Toronto horse-racing deaths we are investigating. It turns out that Mr. Taggert has a strong interest in horse breeding as well as betting, and his name came up in the investigation. Considering his position as an ex-mayor of Hamilton I was told to come see him at his home rather than ask him to come to Toronto for the interview, also because he was hosting some important event today; now I know what _that_ was. He gave me an appointment for this afternoon…so here I am."

Julia looked at him. "So, in other words, the mountain was told to come to Mohammed?"

William flushed. "Yes. Quite. I believe that colourful phrase came from Francis Bacon?" William pounded Mr. August on the back to help the wracking cough and then assisted him in rising, rather unsteadily, on his feet. "But it is agreeable to see you, Julia, in any event. You look…"The pleasantry was interrupted when William grabbed Mr. August to prevent him from keeling over again when the butler saw the ghastly corpse festooning his employer's staircase.

"Steady there, man. Come over here and sit, and tell us what happened." _It seems kissing my wife will have to wait._ William on one side and Julia on the other, they guided him to the library so as to be out of the line of sight of the body, and found him a seat. Mr. August, whom William judged to be about fifty, collapsed his lanky form into a hard-backed chair and took a few breaths to compose himself.

William whispered to Julia as an aside: "We need to check and make sure he has not been chloroformed, or gassed" giving her a sour look, "considering how often the Dominion Police have been known to use that tactic. Where there is 'national security'..."

"…There are spies," Julia finished. William's remark reminded her of just how often her husband had been rendered unconscious by one spy or another.

When Mr. August appeared sufficiently aroused, William made introductions while Julia tended to his head wound with one of William's handkerchiefs.

"Oh…ah…yes. Detective Murdoch... You are here to see Mr. Taggert. I am, er… I was expecting you, sir… that is Mr. Taggert is expecting you. I just came into the hallway to, er…em…to… and then I saw…" Mr. August's stammering ceased all together.

William sympathized. "Yes. Very difficult sight I imagine. Enough to unnerve any man. What time did you come into the house and see the body?" William asked, hoping the question would focus the man on something concrete and calm his nerves.

"I am not sure exactly. Everyone was out of the house by twelve noon when the first guests started arriving." Mr. August was coming around and his pained expression was for more than the dead body and knock on his head; he was distinctly uncomfortable being tended to by guests of his employer and sitting on a chair in the Library, possibly a breach in protocol he had never dared at any time in his whole life in service. He stood abruptly and swayed for a moment before straightening his jacket and searching for any dirt that may have befallen him. "The last thing I remember was coming into the house from the garden, I don't…I don't actually remember more than seeing…. _him."_ A massive walnut longcase clock, situated at the end of the hall, chimed the eight-note Westminster Quarters.

William confirmed with his own watch. "It is two-thirty. Mr. August, do you think someone assaulted you, or perhaps were you were overcome and…"

"Fainted...Detective?" The butler tried to raise an eyebrow in affronted displeasure, but the attempt brought more pain to his wounded head. His shoulders slumped. "Yes, I suppose I did." He winced again as Officer Broadstreet returned.

The Dominion Police officer assessed the situation. "Doctor Ogden, is it? You are staying with the family this week-end I believe. Is Mr. August well-enough for him to quietly find Mr. Taggert and Arthur Percy Sherwood, and ask them to come into the house? Mr. Sherwood is the Chief Commissioner of the Dominion Police and in attendance at this event, and as we are responsible for security," Broadstreet swallowed, "he must be notified."

"Mr. August, how are you feeling?" Julia monitored his vital signs as best she could. She looked again at his eyes—they were equal and reactive, his pulse was strong and his colour was better. He no longer appeared ready to swoon. "He was not assaulted, Officer Broadstreet, but he did pass out and hit his head fairly hard. If Mr. August says he is fine I don't see the harm in it, but after that he should rest and get Cook to fetch some ice for that lump."

"Excellent. Then while Mr. August is doing his duty, I will get men from outside to remove the corpse from the…from its position. Detective Murdoch, Dr. Ogden, if you will remain here with the body and see that no one comes in?" Broadstreet asked. "Mr. August, I don't suppose you recognize the victim, do you?"

That sent the butler reeling again. "I…I…I, don't think…" He grasped the back of his chair with white knuckles.

"Officer Broadstreet, the victim is head-down and covered in blood. His own mother would not recognize him," Julia spoke up. She saw that her husband was restless and cocked an eyebrow at him.

Broadstreet relented. "Very well. We will wait on identification. Mr. August, please ask Mr. Taggert and Mr. Sherwood to come back to the house, saying only that 'Francis Broadstreet is in the foyer hoping for a word.' That will alert them to extricate themselves from the crowd and come inside. I will go get men to move the body and clean up the mess."

As soon as the butler left, William confronted Broadstreet. "I don't want to tell you how to do your job, sir, but moving the body and interfering with the crime scene…" He gestured to the staircase. "You will ruin the evidence."

Broadstreet shook his head and looked carefully at William and then Julia before speaking. William recognized that flat, black-eyed look shuttering over the man's eyes. "My _job_ is the security of the nation, detective. I answer to the Commissioner and he answers directly to the Prime Minister." Broadstreet stared in an obvious attempt to intimidate, but William did not back down. _And to her credit, neither did Julia,_ William reflected with pride. Having won nothing, Broadstreet excused himself and went out the front door.

As soon as the man's back was turned, Julia looked at William with a knowing grin, speaking as soon as the door closed. "William, perhaps we can do a little preliminary investigation before the body is moved?"

William exhaled in relief and nodded. "I rather think we should. You don't know him I take it?" he asked as they took up positions on either side of the staircase to look for evidence and measure the width of the blood spatter with William's tape measure.

"No. I do not recognize him, but his face is obscured and his suit looks generally like what most of the men are wearing. I'd estimate he is your height, lighter by at least ten pounds and younger by a good ten years." Julia said all this without making any eye contact with her husband, in case he was sensitive about the comparisons. "I make that seven feet from the farthest droplet in this direction. And look at this, I'd say his shoes are brand new." William observed the un-scuffed soles she pointed to.

"Ah, yes. There are no foot prints in the blood spatter that I can see, other than these smudges which I saw Officer Broadstreet make. Do you see anything from your angle?" William asked, having written down the measurements and made a quick sketch of the scene.

"No, I do not," Julia answered. "There is nothing in his hands that I can see and nothing in his hair." She noticed a small bit of detritus on the floor and asked for his magnifying glass. While peering at, what turned out to be bits of grass, she asked, "Do you really like the dress? I had absolutely nothing suitable to wear for a garden-party, and certainly nothing that fit the sort of Society occasion this event is. I borrowed it from Dennie, and I think I'd like to own something like this. It's from Paris!" she gushed, as she picked up the weeds and placed them on a piece of white paper, also recovered from William's jacket pockets.

William knew he was supposed to praise the dress, and to be honest he appreciated the colour, even if the cut reminded him of Julia's more intimate clothing and less of the straight-forward suits she usually wore that were form-fitting or snug in the waist, showing off her figure. In fact it was taking some fortitude not to want to touch the silky cloth, with her in it. _She's only been gone two days but I miss her_. He listened for any noises approaching, and stood up, coming next to her. When she straightened as well, he kissed her, chastely, and grinned. "You make the dress beautiful, Doctor." He was rewarded with a beaming smile in which he momentarily basked, until getting distracted by the interesting blood pool.

"Julia, look at this. What do you make of the blood stain? Can you tell how long it has been…? And by the way, who is _Dennie_?" he asked, leaving her to the blood while he went about cautiously peering up the square opening of the staircase. He took in a set of three fine stained-glass panels on the back wall of the house on the first landing, depicting a woman in white in the center and flowers of some kind on the side panels, then looked all the way to the third floor. He was starting to calculate the trajectory of the suspected fall, when he and Julia were interrupted by three men coming through the front door with grim looks on their faces, led by Officer Broadstreet.

"Men, we need to carefully remove that body from that position and get this area cleaned up. Try to remove it," he gave a glance to William and Julia, "as carefully as possible. You may have to take the whole bronze statue with it…" He shrugged. He appeared to have reconsidered his earlier reaction. "Would that be your advice, Detective?"

William looked at Julia and came forward. "Ideally we would study the body in place and take the whole thing, weapon, well I suppose you can call it a weapon, the whole thing to the morgue for Dr. Ogden to examine in situ." The four other men stared in confusion. William could not keep a little satisfaction out of his voice. "Dr. Ogden was at one time Chief Coroner for the city of Toronto and currently serves as acting coroner."

Broadstreet explained. "This lovely woman, gentlemen, is Dr. Ogden."

It took the four of them with considerable grunting and an assist with a rope to get the body off its undignified display and onto the floor. They accomplished it quickly with minimal extra fuss or discussion, and set about scrubbing the blood after getting a grudging OK from William. William was a little unnerved that this crew of men knew how to remove so much blood and apparently had the equipment and chemicals on hand.

Julia was taking a rapid survey of the body when her host, Mr. Taggert, opened the ballroom's pocket doors, followed by a gentleman of military bearing with a brown mustache over generous lips she assumed was Mr. Sherwood. Mr. Taggert gasped and put a hand on his companion's arm. His skin paled to match the wispy white hair crowning his high forehead and full white beard, mustache and mutton chops which were trimmed in an old-fashioned style to match his old-fashioned gentleman's suit. His rheumy eyes were round and wide in distress. Julia thought he was going to be the next man to faint, he _was_ over eighty years old after all, so she took a position on his other side and eased him onto the hall bench.

Mr. Taggert muttered, "A lady, er…you should not be here…" He managed to sound offended rather than grateful for Julia's assistance.

"Your welcome," Julia answered sweetly, much _too_ sweetly.

William noted that while this was going on the other man barely broke stride and joined Broadstreet by the body. "It's not him," he noted cryptically under his breath and stood up, exhaling. William saw Mr. Taggert was still in some shock when Officer Broadstreet, calmly made introductions.

"Sirs, may I present Dr. Julia Ogden who is a houseguest of Mrs. Carter, and this is Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary, here to conduct an interview with Mr. Taggert. Dr. Ogden, Detective Murdoch, this is Mr. Arthur Percy Sherwood, Commissioner of Dominion Police, and this is Mr. Endeavour Taggert." After the handshaking was done, Broadstreet continued. "Dr. Ogden found the bodies…well, she found the butler, Mr. August, unconscious next to the body, then opened the front door to admit Detective Murdoch and myself. Dr. Ogden and Detective Murdoch are…"

Sherwood's' large, clear eyes had a touch of humour. "Yes, I am aware of who they are, Broadstreet." William and Julia looked at each other. "Well, you both have reputations and have given service to your country before, have you not? I am familiar with your files." He turned again to Broadstreet. "Have we identified the victim yet?

From behind them, Endeavour Taggert's hoarse voice intruded, a slight quaver in his speech. "That, gentlemen, is Caliber Burke. He is the son of my late son's business partner and has been staying with me next door in Myrtle House for several weeks to learn about retail tobacco manufacturing, marketing and distribution. A little raw in the business-sense, but the right kind of mind, focused on the bottom line." Mr. Taggert hauled himself as upright as his stooped back would allow and moved next to the body forcing himself to look, then wincing at the terrible, obvious wound in the man's abdomen. He took in a ragged breath. "He was barely thirty. Comes from Virginia. No….no family." Words failed the old man again and he closed his eyes, remaining standing with effort.

"I take it the cause of death is not in question?" Sherwood did not seem to require an answer.

Julia joined in even though she was not asked. "I am fairly certain of the proximal cause of death, but not the manner of death. The cause appears to be impalement with organ damage and subsequent blood loss, but I don't know what all the contributing factors are." Mr. Taggert glowered more balefully about Julia delivering such an assessment. Each of them understood: no one could have escaped such an evisceration with their life, but how it happened and why were the really important questions to be answered.

"Sir," William insisted, "we should call the Hamilton Police. They need to gather the evidence, question witnesses, and identify suspects…"

"No, detective. We will do no such thing. The Hamilton Chief Constable is a guest at this party as is Wellington Jeffers Morden **,** the current Mayor, two past Mayors, several high-ranking political figures and important businessmen who will not take kindly to being considered suspects or witnesses in a murder and do not need to be panicked with any announcement of this unfortunate death. There is also a very serious national security angle to consider." Sherwood turned to scowl at Officer Broadstreet and his men. "I am wondering how in hell this could have happened, right under the nose of a security detail, _my_ security detail, gentlemen!" he said angrily, not caring he swore in the presence of a lady. "Ordinarily I would have the Dominion Police on site investigate this, but considering that they failed their duty, I have lost a certain amount of confidence in their abilities."

Sherwood's voice rose only slightly but the tone sent his officers to stiffen and colour in anger or shame. "Besides, putting in a telephone call like that could alert anyone in a wider conspiracy that something has happened when they see the police mobilize. What if this is all a feint to draw police presence off their real target?" Sherwood shifted his hands behind his back. "This has all the earmarks of an attack on the very establishment of our country, or at least that is how Ottawa is likely to read it, unless it can be ruled as a tragic accident?" Sherwood's eyes locked on to William, sounding almost hopeful. "Detective, what do you think?"

William paused before answering, mindful of the uncomfortable truth this man had a _file_ on him and Julia. He supposed he should have known, but the notion of Terrance Meyers' making reports on them was unsettling, especially considering their contentious encounters. He flicked his eyes toward his wife, who merely raised her eyebrows. "Sir. If you would allow Dr. Ogden and me to examine some of the evidence, perhaps we can answer that one question for you?"

Obtaining consent from Mr. Sherwood over Mr. Taggert's objection, William and Julia climbed the stairs past three panels of coloured glass on the landing, each topped by transom window, to do a cursory examination of the second floor. Julia had never searched a scene with William before in quite this way; usually it was one of his constables who performed these duties. She surreptitiously observed what William was doing and copied him. Nothing seemed obviously amiss. The floor possessed a central lobby from which various doors led off to bedrooms and Julia pointed out the one she was staying in.

William's curiosity got the best of him. "I take it Mr. Taggert does not approve of the modern woman?" he asked with a straight face as they made note of the back hall and servants' staircase.

Julia placed her hand firmly on her hips. "Endeavour Taggert is an old fossil for whom women have one and only one place!" she said between clenched teeth. "It was he and my father who were close in age, and shared a certain skepticism about women in the world. Prudence's mother and my mother on the other hand were similar in age, and occasionally played bridge. That is how I met Dennie, obviously short for Prudence. Dennie and Jules, two tomboys breaking all the conventions imposed on girls. While my father was displeased, her grandfather was outraged and curbed her severely. No one brooked Endeavour Taggert's iron control over his family." Julia's own outrage about the memory threatened to make it too hard to keep her voice down.

"You and Mrs. Carter have a lot in common?" William assumed there was more. He examined the carpet from different angles to see if there were drag marks."

Julia smiled when she understood what William was doing and got down on the floor with him for a better view of the carpet. "Yes, we do. Our mothers passed away around the same time, even our husbands…." Julia stopped. "Darcy was killed the same month her husband died. Neither of us could bear children." She got quiet. "Dennie's gotten pregnant but miscarried every time. The last one nearly killed her as well. She was a great friend when we were young and we recently reconnected. That is why I agreed to help her today with this fundraiser for women's health needs." Julia's face scrunched in guilty embarrassment. "She probably thinks I abandoned her."

"I am sure that has been taken care of, somehow. How is it she is living here now?" William asked. He was learning more about the family that could help—more data, in his estimation, always did. It also had the side benefit of helping him understand more about his wife.

For her part, Julia hoped she was not ruining the borrowed dress, but the freedom of movement it gave her was delicious. _I could never have done this crawling around in a corset! No wonder Dennie had gone step farther and adopted trousers for her work at the family's tobacco factory._ She brought herself back to answer William. "She moved here after her husband died. Dennie had already substantially raised her youngest sister, Joy, so she came here to run the house for her grandfather, and take over some of the business functions Mr. Carter had been responsible for. All four granddaughters live here—some more happily than others…" She stood, shaking her head. "I see nothing of value here."

"Myself as well." William moved to bend over the balcony to look at the staircase below. "Julia, how much would you say our victim weighed?"

"I'd say about 145 to 150 pounds, give or take. He's taller than average and slim. Why?"

"Because I do not think he could have come from this height and impale himself with enough force to drive that bronze object through his midsection and out the back like that." William took out his notebook to begin sketching again and made a page for calculations.

Julia came over and looked down. "Well, it is only a guess, it would be better to measure both his weight and his height, as well as his proportions."

"Yes, better data produces more accurate results, but," William caught her eyes and offered her a small grin, "I will take your guesses as most accurate, considering your knack for estimation has tended to be supported by instrumentation."

Julia took pleasure in the compliment and blushed. "Why, detective, thank you for noticing. You flatter me."

William smiled back in satisfaction. "Let us go to the third floor, shall we?"

The third floor was laid out much as the one below it. They counted eight doorways off a central lobby plus the servant's staircase. As private, family space, it was not as lavishly decorated as the ground floor, and boasted only one window wedged in between two parts of an angled roofline. The pair looked at the oak railing and the beginning of the staircase below. "William, did you notice how Mr. Sherwood and Officer Broadstreet actually appeared to _relax_ a bit after seeing the body up close and in better light?" Julia whispered.

"Quite. I noticed that was well. I heard Mr. Sherwood mutter something like 'It is not him.' I wonder what that signified." William kept his voice low and frowned in concentration.

"Yes. Curious. I never met Mr. Burke, but that was the man Dennie spoke of as being taken under her grandfather's wing." Dennie had said a great deal more, but Julia did not think now was the proper time to gossip. She looked for evidence of a struggle, anything broken…a button connected to the killer conveniently lying on the floor. "William. This searching over the scene for physical clues is quite stimulating." She scraped at a bit of dust. "I wonder if refusal to call the local police has more to do with the scandal or embarrassment of allowing the death to happen than national security." Julia paused to search her mind. "Although, it is almost as if they _expected_ a death of some kind and even a particular victim. I wonder if that is the real reason for all the security, especially security from the Dominion Police, for what is after all a social occasion, not a political rally." She ran her hand along the railing and looked closely at the floor by the balustrade and sighed. "Nothing obvious here." She made sure the men on the ground floor could hear those words.

He nodded in agreement to both of those opinions. "Julia, I think we need to keep our speculations to ourselves, for now." In a louder voice he said: "I see no indication of a struggle as well, but we need to know exactly where he went over and if there is any way to tell if this was a simple accident. Doctor, will you take the other end of the measuring tape and run it down to the newel post? Then hold it there while I strike off the angle?" Out of his dark brown summer-wool jacket pocket came a tape measure and protractor.

"Of course." Julia took the tab-end and went down the stairs, finally putting her hand where the tip of the lighted statue had been. "Remember, detective, there was a definite point on the object, capable of piercing flesh I would guess."

On the ground floor Officer Broadstreet and the other security men were nowhere to be seen, and all that was left of the blood spatter was damp spots on the wallpaper and floor. Julia was glad she and William had taken some notes before this evidence was erased. _I must learn what they used to remove the stains and if they'd share the secret with me as a professional courtesy._ She made a note to herself to ask.

After several moments she heard a "Thank you, doctor, you can let go now," and watched the tape zip up to the third floor, then William descend. He took one last look up the third floor and joined Julia with Mr. Sherwood and Mr. Taggert in the library.

William took out his notebook and stood to lecture while the clock gave the hour as three. "Gentlemen, by my calculations, since force equals mass times acceleration and gravity accelerates at 9.8 metres per second squared, Mr. Burke would have to have fallen from the third floor in order to build up enough force to impale himself as he did. Using myself as a stand-in for his height, and considering our guess about his weight, I can say with a degree of certainty that only going over the railing where I have marked it upstairs, would produce the damage we saw on the body. I can give you the mathematical proof if you like?"

He asked somewhat hopefully, Julia noticed.

Sherwood waved him off, so William continued. "Therefore he was not placed there after death as some sort of macabre message, and a limp or dead body pitched over the railing would have had a different trajectory. Alternatively, he could have been pushed over to obscure some other very proximal cause of death such as a stab wound, even a bullet wound I imagine, but there would have been no guarantee he'd have hit the newel post in that particular manner. Regardless, only an autopsy will deliver that information." Mr. Taggert, who had been sitting quietly, seemed to groan at those details.

Sherwood narrowed his eyes. "A degree of certainty, Detective? How so? Based on what evidence?"

"Based on the laws of physics. And, well…pigs." William made himself say the last bit solemnly. "Sir."

"Pigs? Did you say, _pigs_?" Sherwood's voice sounded skeptical but William thought his eyes telegraphed amusement.

Julia was not so sure. "Detective Murdoch and I have conducted extensive experiments over the years to replicate the events of a crime, including recreating the wounds. The detective has developed charts that correlate to the physics of several kinds of crime, using pigs as a substitute for human beings. While it is not a perfect analogy…"

Sherwood barked a short laugh, startling Mr. Taggert into a coughing fit. "Detective, enough. Your reputation precedes you. Could it have been an accident of some kind? A slip and fall perhaps? Even that he was drunk and toppled over?"

Julia answered. "There is no overt evidence of alcohol with the body, and no evidence of any obstruction or problems with the flooring on the third floor that would cause such an accident. The railing is intact. Blood samples and stomach contents would be helpful. I think by the blood spatter he was alive when he hit the statue." Julia spotted Mr. Taggert blanching again and stopped any further descriptions.

William continued. "The height of the balustrade is scaled for a man of average height, between about five foot six to eight inches tall. We are guessing Mr. Burke was close to myself in height, and while I am taller than average, there is no way I could 'accidently' go over that railing, especially face first. No, gentlemen, he had to be pushed." He swung the cover of his notebook up in a snap and rocked on the balls of his feet. "I make it murder. Therefore we need to call the local constabulary."

# # #

 **This time both Mr. Sherwood** _ **and**_ **Mr. Taggert objected to calling the local police,** and sent Julia and William out into the hall so the two men could confer in private.

William and Julia took the opportunity to do the same. In the hall, William gave an admiring perusal to the walnut clock, hoping the one he had ordered for his home with Julia would be as attractive. Inspector Brackenreid had convinced him that a gentleman's home was incomplete unless furnished with a tall clock that chimed every quarter hour.

Julia took his hand and settled them into a modest drawing room situated next to the library, enjoying how her skirts seemed to almost float around her. A second pair of double doors gave way to the dining room to the left which was outfitted-to-impress with massive oak built-in china buffet and cabinets, and an oak table set for twelve but clearly able to accommodate twice that many. Julia liked the cozy drawing room the best; when the morning sun was just right, splashes of colour from the stained glass at the turn of the stairs flooded across the hall and into the room. "William, while I am glad to see you, what are you really doing here? I am only going to be gone from Toronto four days…I expected you to be home dealing with the architect or happily working your way through your stack of _American Journal of Mathematics_ and your new subscription to _Journal of Electricity_ that I got you for your birthday. What could possibly tear you away from that?"

William's face fell. "I know. I am so disappointed." He wrinkled the left side of his mouth. "You were exactly right about the mountain coming to Mohammed. This Toronto horse-race case seems to never end, and Inspector Brackenreid is becoming aggrieved. When the investigation lead me to Endeavour Taggert, I was flatly ordered to interview him today, or not at all, so…here I am." He checked his watch. "I will be missing my train home, but hopefully I will get the interview." He turned back to her, admiring the way her dress played up the colour of her eyes. The house was so quiet and still the two of them could have been anywhere, on vacation in some serene location, delving into a detailed conversation on some scientific principle or new discovery…except for the body lying a few feet away and the smells of death that had not dissipated.

If anyone had asked, he could not deny he was enjoying himself.

Julia interrupted his reverie. "William, what do you really believe is going on with Mr. Burke's death? Is it possible it is linked to your visit here in some way? I mean, he _did_ die right before you were scheduled to come. That's an awfully big coincidence, don't you think?"

William felt his skin buzz as if touched with electricity. _That_ had not occurred to him at all, and was an unappetizing idea. It sent him to working through the variables. After a moment he said, "I don't think so, Julia, but you are right, it is a troubling coincidence, and we have learned to be wary of those, have we not? I think it more likely to have something to do with the security threat, or whatever passes for that, considering the effort put into guarding this house—for all the good that did. I recall how difficult it is to fail in one's duty to protect." William's mind went immediately to the death of an Alderman, assassinated in a carriage seated next to Mayor Hopkins, all the while under the protection of the Constabulary, and right under the noses of Station House No. 4. That caused William to wonder. "Did you know about the security detail ahead of time?"

"No. I did not. Mr. Sherwood is no more forthcoming than our old friend Terrance Meyers, was. I did not know about the Pinkerton's and Dominion Police until one of the guests commented on it. I suppose we will never get the truth from him…" Julia looked up as she heard the library doors open and saw Mr. Sherwood's shadow approach from the hall. "Speak of the devil," she said in a _sotto voce,_ as the Commissioner cleared his throat and William helped Julia rise.

Commissioner Sherwood's face was closed and his speech clipped. "Detective Murdoch. I just got off the telephone with Ottawa. It turns out that our Prime Minister, Mr. Laurier, has taken a very keen interest in this tragic death. And, it also seems he is somewhat of an admirer of yours. You have been appointed to sort out which of the people in the house or on the grounds is responsible for Mr. Burke's death, until a Dominion Police Special Investigator arrives to take over. We need time to assess the whole scope of the national security picture, something that is being carried out right now with all good speed by government operatives in Ottawa. Therefore, he has ordered me to help you conduct a preliminary inquiry, _here_."

William felt his fists tighten and exchanged a glance with Julia, who looked equally bewildered.

Mr. Sherwood ignored William's agitation. "Your mandate is to eliminate as many people as suspects and witnesses as you can, so that this…incident… is kept as tightly under wraps as possible. Your country is counting on you, detective." He smiled tightly, pivoting slightly to Julia and bowing. "And you, Dr. Ogden, are to assist him. You have three or four hours, more or less, to do it. "


	2. Chapter 2

**-Chapter Two-**

"… **.Face it, Murdoch. Neither you nor I have any say in the matter."** Inspector Brackenreid's voice came across the telephone lines slightly scratchy-distorted; nothing, however, interfered with his sarcastic tone oozing through. "It isn't every day that I get a personal telephone call from our Prime Minister, _Mister-Wilfrid-Bloody-Laurier_ , asking ever so politely, if I would mind lending my detective to him for a few hours. Honestly, Murdoch! How do you do it? Always getting yourself in a cock-up like this?"

"But, sir!" William defended himself. "You are the one who told me to come here in the first place…" He was standing in the library, with Julia seated beside him and the pocket-doors closed for privacy's sake. This call was not going the way he had hoped. Any other time he would have sent his curiosity to the hundreds of volumes lining the room's handsome shelves; instead he stared at the telephone's earpiece as if by doing so he could change the words that were coming over the wires.

Brackenreid interrupted what was drifting towards a whine from his detective. "They will be sending you their new replacement for Terrance Meyers, coming on a special train that should arrive in Hamilton in a few hours. I cannot believe I am saying this, but I almost wish it were Mr. Meyers, at least he's the devil we know…"

William interjected again. "Sir! To conduct a case in only three or four hours, with no constables, no equipment…"

"You have Dr. Ogden, do you not?" Brackenreid continued in a milder tone. "Look, Murdoch. The whole thing is an embarrassment all the way around. Your job is to catch the killer, but also to help them all save face. No one wants to create a panic, offend any of the gentry's sensibilities or derail anyone's political career. Just secure what evidence you can, whittle down the possible suspects and do it all without ruffling any unnecessary feathers."

"Inspector, while that may sound straight forward enough, I don't like how the Hamilton Constabulary is being side-lined and put under suspicion; at the same time I can't help but think if it goes well no one will know anything about it and if it goes badly then the Toronto Constabulary will be blamed for the mess."

"Ah, Detective, you are learning the subtleties of politics. Well done." Brackenreid's sarcasm crept back in. "But, me ol' mucker, it will be you _personally_ that will get blamed as well."

William heard a cough on the other end of the line, and it sounded as if his superior just took a long swig of scotch. William had no trouble visualizing Brackenreid at his desk, glass in hand and glare in place. He knew his inspector was unhappy about the circumstances, but rather than giving sympathy, or support or even _help_ , William was feeling like he was being set adrift. "I am aware of that, sir. Dr. Ogden and I will do our best."

"Find a new gear, Murdoch. You have a few hours to do what, I know, usually takes you days on end. You are the current, temporary, Special Investigator of the Dominion Police, and at the moment you outrank me, the Chief Constable and probably everyone else at that tea-party down in Hamilton! Bloody hell—right at this moment you _are_ the new Terrance Meyers! Use it, but don't let it go to your head. Just get on with it and make sure no one else gets killed!" Brackenreid ended the call on that high note.

William stared at the telephone for several seconds after the line went dead, trying to think what he should have said to extricate himself from this dilemma.

"I heard your end of the conversation, William. What advice did the Inspector have for you?" Julia asked. She was surprised at the level of William's consternation. After Mr. Sherwood made his extraordinary announcement, William had quietly excused himself, taken her by the elbow and retreated stiffly to the library to use the telephone. Watching the unguarded expressions on his face during the telephone call was quite a revelation, and it was only worry that kept her from being amused.

"He reminded me of how often, just as I have honed in on my prime suspect, he, or she, has wound up dead!" William rubbed his forehead and placed the earpiece on the handset. He smiled tightly at Julia then sighed. "But I digress. It seems that I am in charge of this investigation until I am relieved by a new Special Investigator who is coming to Hamilton via commissioned train. Calling in the local police is out of the question in case that would tip off other would-be conspirators, while The-Powers-That-Be decide if there are threats to the nation that are playing out in this particular house in Hamilton on this particular day; there are newspaper reporters outside in the garden who must, at all costs, be kept in the dark; the Prime Minister is angry with the security detail, whose members must be now counted amongst the suspects; and the list of dignitaries and important personages I am not to upset is impressive for its length. I am expected to produce concrete results in under four hours, with incomplete information and no access to my usual tools of my trade, so to speak. I have too many motives and suspects…" He moved restlessly about.

"… And, oh, if I err in some way it will be my head. Did I leave anything out?" William hadn't meant to sound so plaintive and he hated himself for it. _In this instance perhaps Inspector Brackenreid has rubbed off on me,_ he understood ruefully _._

Part of Julia appreciated his candor; she knew her husband would never speak his mind this way to anyone _but_ her. She decided going to the heart of the matter was best, so she rose and stood very near him, allowing them to see eye-to-eye. "Detective. A man has been murdered. You have been given the job of investigating his death. All those other variables are merely distractions. We need evidence, interviews and a timeline." She had not watched this man work for a decade without picking up a thing or two. "Even better, there is a chalk board in the billiard room on the third floor. You can work there in relative privacy." Julia gave him the most brilliant smile she could produce.

William was jolted out of his momentary self-pity by feeling exceptionally grateful for Julia's take on the situation.

 _I already have means: the man was pushed over the railing from the third floor. What I need is opportunity, which I hope to get from narrowing the time of death. For motive, I need to know more about the victim._

"You are quite right, doctor. Forgive my lapse of attention." He kissed her cheek, thinking how happy he was that she was there with him. "Inspector Brackenreid also advised me to make use of your talents. How often have I said that together we can do almost anything?" The enervated feeling dissipated. _Bless Julia for reminding me it is Justice I serve, not the whims of political masters._ "I believe we will divide and conquer. Do you think you could look at the body for anything that could confirm a time of death as well as collect trace evidence for basic analysis?"

# # #

 **Working rapidly was an understatement.** While Julia and the body made their clandestine way to the basement, William had the security staff (8 men plus Officer Broadstreet) bring him the guest list (230 names), a list of servants (10 between the kitchen staff and servers, including Mr. August), and a location on all the carriage drivers, etcetera, who were on the premises (7 playing cards in the carriage house.) The security detail was not happy about the arrangement until Mr. Sherwood stepped in and made them understand it was not a request. William took the risk that Mr. Sherwood was above suspicion, so he was allowed to question his own men who confirmed no one "uninvited" came onto the property and no one has left either. Considering William's own attempt to enter the grounds and house, he believed them. Mr. Sherwood also confirmed that all guards were at all times within sightlines of each other, so it was unlikely anyone snuck in. With Mr. August's keys, four men thoroughly search the house then reestablish themselves on the perimeter. No perpetrators were hiding anywhere and there was no obvious evidence of the murder having actually taken place in another location. William did not expect to find anything but it needed to be done to be certain.

It had been an astonishingly short time since he was first admitted to the house as a petitioner, to being placed in charge of an investigation by the Prime Minister himself. William was acutely aware of the time ticking off against him, punctuated by the hall clock chiming every quarter hour. By eliminating anyone who arrived after Julia entered the main floor hall to discover Mr. August and Mr. Burke, William was pleased to see twenty nine names now crossed off the guest list and an additional seventeen to count the carriage drivers who all alibied each other and all the security detail. He remained daunted by the task ahead. _At the rate I am going, it will be forty-eight hours from now, not four, until I get through_ _the next 210 names._

He was just setting up his notebook when Mr. Endeavour Taggert arrived and sat down. William already knew a great deal about Taggert, his family and business, because he prepared himself prior to the intended interview today. Sitting across from the Mr. Taggert, William saw the remnants of what had been a tall, formidable man, ruthless in business and given to the twin passions of politics and money.

His recently deceased son, Merit Taggert, had grown the family tobacco business into a mini-empire, emulating his father's business tactics for exploiting an opportunity by buying tobacco from the South's secessionist's during the American War Between the States, turning it into consumer products and then reintroducing the addictive smoke to the North from "neutral" Canada. Merit Taggert even took a turn as Alderman, after his father served as Mayor. Having made his fortune and his mark on society, he built this pile of a house for his family, and then promptly died almost as soon as the last shingle was attached. He had been only sixty-two.

William sighed, hoping he was not being superstitious about his own plans for a home with Julia. So often that was the story: a man finally settles into his life, has enough capital and the stability to put down firm roots, builds his dream home and then never gets to enjoy it. Instead he focused on Endeavour Taggert.

He opened his notebook and began. "Mr. Taggert, what can you tell me about the victim, Caliber Burke, the young man who was your guest? I believe he was known as 'Caleb'?"

"Caliber came to Hamilton about seven weeks ago, a little while after his mother died. Edmund Burke passed on early last fall. Mr. Burke senior was in business with my son, but we bought him out in 1874, leaving him with a ten percent 'silent' share, and the arrangement was that his company sold us tobacco and he then distributed some of the product back in the States. While our business prospered, Mr. Burke senior fell on hard times. Caliber inherited the business and needed to learn how to run it better, so I invited him here to learn it all first hand." Taggert was succinct and appeared to have composed himself after the shock of seeing his guest's body splayed in the hall. _It was a miracle the man had not had a heart attack on the spot._

William wondered if some misfortune followed Caleb Burke to Hamilton from Virginia. "I see. Tell me, Mr. Taggert. If your family business has prospered and Mr. Burke had a ten percent share, do you know how it is he fell on such hard times? Was young Mr. Burke dealing with his father's debts or perhaps some of his own?"

Taggert did not hesitate. "The ten percent 'silent' share was only worth something should the entire business be sold, much like some stock certificates are only worth something if there is a new buyer for the business, and only as a way to cash out. Edmund Burke made his money as a middle man for tobacco sales- raw material to Canada and finished product to the States. Caliber was forthright with me that there were business debts in Virginia, largely because the business did not keep up with changing times. Caliber seemed to have much better business acumen than Mr. Burke, senior, and I was confident he was going to be able to turn the business around."

At that, William observed Mr. Taggert stiffened his shoulders as if to stave off showing emotion about the loss of a young man he clearly had taken a shine to. Still, there were questions that needed to be asked. "Mr. Taggert, what more can you tell me? Did Mr. Burke have any enemies that you are aware of, perhaps in Virginia? Or did he have any problems with anyone here in Hamilton? Issues with business rivals? Romantic interests? Gambling perhaps?"

The detective watched Taggert's reactions to each of these questions as they were presented. The old man had probably been a good poker player, treating William to the full display of legendary 'Taggert' negotiating style: nothing caused even a flicker across the man's age-lined face. But this time William noticed he did hesitate before answering.

"Detective Murdoch, my interactions with Caliber were defined by a ten-hour work day and dinner conversation. I cannot imagine anyone who would resort to killing him. He conducted himself in my presence as intelligent and well-mannered. I imagine that as a young man of certain means, he made social acquaintances about which I would have scant knowledge, but they could hardly have been of any depth or duration. Whom could he have possibly offended in a mere seven weeks when his time and attention were devoted to business matters?"

 _Whom, indeed?_ groaned William _. If Mr. Taggert were not exaggerating about the length of his working hours, perhaps he was not as decrepit as he first appeared to be. And I noticed he did not actually answer the question._ "Did he get on well here with the family?"

Taggert answered quickly. "My granddaughter's fiancé, Mr. Trevor Howard, and Caliber did not see eye to eye on business matters. I think Mr. Howard felt a little put out about the time I was spending with young Mr. Burke. I have been grooming Mr. Howard to take over part of the business, detective. I have lost my son and two son's -in -law and must consider the future of the business which supports my family, as well a hundred of our employees here in Hamilton. As for my granddaughters… Prudence, my eldest, has been a sort of caretaker for our newly-built factory since her husband passed on. She has had contact with Caliber about business matters, but I am not aware of any problems. Mercy, also widowed, seems fond enough of him. Charity, the next youngest, and Caliber spent considerable time socializing in the billiard room; both their mothers were from Virginia so I suppose they kindled a common bond. Joy, my youngest granddaughter, is the one engaged to Mr. Howard and primarily devoted to him. I suppose she and Caliber crossed paths socially."

"Mr. Taggert, where were you this afternoon?" William considered if old Mr. Taggert was as enthusiastic about 'Caleb' Burke as he claimed. _I learned long ago that an otherwise physically weak individual can act with surprising strength if the circumstances warrant._

The old man shifted and leaned forward. "I am, or at least I _was_ hosting an event with more than 200 people in attendance. I greeted each one, continuously from twelve noon until August fetched me into the house. And before you ask, Detective, I must insist that you not involve my daughters in any of this…sordid business. It is unsuitable for a woman of any good breeding to associate herself with such gruesome events."

William saw that Mr. Taggert's distaste for exposing a female to "gruesome events" encompassed his disapproval of the whole concept of 'Dr. Julia Ogden.' It was a good thing he did not know that she was performing a post mortem examination on Caleb Burke right under his feet.

# # #

 _ **I am usually neater than this,**_ **Julia judged herself** , looking at the blood smears on the front of her apron, a small spot on her sleeve and another on her skirt that missed the apron, in the glow of electric lights illuminating the basement. _Merit Taggert spared no expense constructing this house_ , she observed, looking at the neat rows of light bulbs and making a mental note to discuss it with William; she was sure it would not be difficult to persuade him to add more electrical to their own home. She was glad she exchanged her borrowed frock for one of her own more serviceable outfits and appropriated said apron from the cook. In fact, she selected several items from the kitchen that were now arrayed in front of her, none of which would never be welcome back in the cook's domain, however useful or sentimental the item was.

Julia could hear pans clanging and the scramble of servers in the kitchen above with a great deal of sympathy: trying to do too much with inadequate time and assistance. In twenty minutes, with a guard standing at the door to prevent her being disturbed, Julia had cut off Caleb Burke's beautiful suit of clothes and looked at the victim's body for signs of other foul play such as a head wound, bruises, cuts, ligature marks, injection sites, broken bones, stab wounds or gun shots, etcetera. None were evident. His fingernails were clean; hands unremarkable except for pollen, and blue-green and red dust. She collected trace evidence of dubious value from his clothing (more blue dust, red dust, & pollen), and examined his stomach.

William had produced yet another treasure from his jacket pockets, one of Mr. Gillette's new safety-razor blades, which made an efficient scalpel-substitute for the more delicate slicing her investigation required. She pieced together the badly damaged stomach to discover its contents included some kind of undigested biscuits and lemonade. She sniffed. _Lavender short-bread, perchance?_ A bit of alcohol as well. It was hard to tell considering the other smells, but a small sample might confirm the presence of the plant at least. Lacking saw, bone shears or her other tools, she had to make do with that: no "Y" incision, no heart or lung samples, no brain sample, and no lab work. She made a small card of fingermarks using the tiny ink-pad William also produced from his jacket. She sighed. _This was more like an on-scene rapid assessment than any kind of autopsy, however I do have more data—and more questions._

Looking down at her hands and apron as she tried to wash the blood out of her fingernails, Julia grimaced, wishing she had asked about the chemical the DP officers used to remove blood. Officer Broadstreet had even suggested a vase full of lilies from the garden be brought in to mask the stench. _My,_ she thought, _they do think of everything, don't they?_ She gave a last scrub, dried her hands then checked her sleeves, sighing at the additional blood spots she found.

 _William is upstairs in a nice clean library, enjoying a nice breeze while I am in a stuffy basement ruining yet another outfit!_ She covered the body with canvas, set the clothing aside after looking carefully at the garments and removing what was in the various pockets, and picked up several folded packets containing the trace evidence to share with William. The last item she pulled out of the dishpan where it was soaking to clean and disinfect, dried it with a clean end of her apron and put it in her pocket with the notes of her meager findings, satisfied with her work. _I think a dress from Paris might need to be my reward!_

She was just pulling the apron over her head when she heard a commotion at the top of the stairs.

 **# # #**

 **William wished he was at the station house** **in his own, familiar, interview room.** Having gone through the preliminaries while running out more clock, he was unsure how to interrogate Mr. Sherwood to get as much information as possible in the shortest time, from a man who operated at the highest echelons of Canada's government, in its most closely guarded arena. _At Station House No. 4 it is always quite established who was running the interview and who was the interviewee. I have so such advantage here_.

"You said 'It's not him.' Mr. Sherwood, whom did you think the victim might have been?" William needed Sherwood's help, had been ordered to help in fact, but the man was also obstructing the investigation by not being more forthcoming. He did not worry about Sherwood's presence being missed so he waited for a straight answer while his patience wore thin and more time elapsed. "Have one of the guests been receiving threats?"

Sherwood was obviously calculating how much to disclose. "Detective, several of the guests have been threatened in one way or another. We have Adam Zimmerman, an American immigrant who aspires to the House of Commons; John Strathearn Hendrie, our ex-Mayor and current member of Provincial Parliament; John Morison Gibson, also a member of the Legislature who is trying to singlehandedly bring electricity to Hamilton; the current Mayor, Wellington Jeffers Morden; even an adherent to Henri Bourassa and his anti-British rhetoric. Many of the guests have threatened _each other_ in the past or are currently vying with each other for a political or economic advantage. Then there is a more general threat to the stability of our government…"

William wondered what part of the Commissioner's statement hit a nerve, since he saw Sherwood twitch in his chair, a sure sign the man was uncomfortable. For the head of a spy agency, he was not very closed in; he could see Mr. Taggert, or Officer Broadstreet beating him at cards. William gestured to keep Sherwood talking.

"Detective Murdoch. Not everyone is in favour of the current government… or Prime Minister Laurier. I am sure it does not stretch your imagination to appreciate that. I admit I spend most of my time allaying the fears caused by overheated imaginations of Canadian and British officials." He stopped himself from going any further by naming names. He took a breath and continued. "However, the anarchist attack on the Welland canal in April 1900, and two investigations of explosions in the west at Coal Creek in '02 and this past April in the town of Frank have unnerved everyone. Unrest is everywhere: in Manchuria; between the Catholics and the government of France; the assassination of the King and Queen of Serbia by the Black Hand. Why even the American drought - all pose threats to Canadian security with those grasping Americans making a play for our water. Having resources pulled out of alignment makes things vulnerable for an underfunded service like ours. We need to make sure this is not a feint of some kind to test our lines of defense, or communication, or manpower. We need to be sure that it is not an act designed to create terror: the message being that we can reach among your wealthy and politically connected and do mayhem at will. The effect would be chilling… "

Sherwood's face reddened; whether from anger or embarrassment William was not certain. "Mr. Sherwood. Do you believe someone else at this party is at risk? Do you believe we have not seen the last of the deaths?" _Brackenreid had been painfully accurate when he alluded to the idea that a second body tended to show up in the midst of my investigations. Not this time, God willing,_ William prayed.

"I have taken steps to increase security. We only need to hold out a little while until reinforcements come." Sherwood sounded confident, despite the words he had just spoken moments before.

William was not as satisfied. "Sir, why kill Caliber Burke? Do you have any information specifically about him? An addition, what connection do any of the principles you have named, or _not_ named for that matter, have _with_ Mr. Burke? He has been in Hamilton less than two months. It is hard to imagine he was involved in a plot of some kind. Because of his naiveté, could he have been unknowingly used in a nefarious manner or even stumbled on some piece of compromising information and been silenced?" That kind of information could lead to something he can use to connect this death with a specific threat or individual in attendance outside. It might even exclude any connection to a national security issue all together and point back to William's interview with Mr. Taggert as the reason for his death, the connection which Julia suggested. William actually hoped that his death _was_ relevant somehow to a specific threat as Mr. Sherwood and Ottawa feared.

 _At least that would mean there was a reason, no matter how horrid, for such a cruel death. It was better than to think he was a random victim, chosen only for convenience's sake to disrupt the party outside or make a political point,_ he believed. _And better than to think he was killed because of my visit with Mr. Taggert._ "Mr. Sherwood, we need to have a motive for this death if we are to find a killer."

Sherwood was about to answer when there was a smart rap on the door. William looked up to see his wife come in, accompanied by a tall, slim woman about Julia's age who wore a dress of layered blue silk. It flowed like a waterfall from the woman's shoulders, gently curving along her body, to end in a band of embroidered dragonflies just above her shoes. The fabric shifted as she moved, so that overlapping sections in various shades of blue shimmered like stained glass, especially as the light hit the fabric from behind. She had blue gems in her ears and at her throat, accenting her eyes and creamy white skin. In combination with dark amber hair clasped in a silver-filigree dragonfly, the effect was arresting.

Julia smiled in apology and both men rose politely, but were noticeably uncomfortable with the interruption.

Mr. Sherwood spoke first. "Mrs. Carter…Dr. Ogden, I do not think…"

"Gentlemen. No one else may have noticed, but as I am hostess for the premiere social event in Hamilton of this entire year, it is my job to keep track of my guests and see that their needs are met…so we can pry as much money as possible put of their pockets." Prudence Carter smiled to take a little of the bite out of her assessment; the smile included a definite glint in her sapphire eyes. "When my butler goes missing, then my houseguest, then my father takes a long siesta in the middle of the gathering, and finally the Commissioner of the Dominion Police absents himself while Cook says she is no longer allowed in the basement pantry, I am going to get to the bottom of it, no matter what!"

William was about to add something when Julia marched forward. "This is Mrs. Carter. She was rather… _persuasive_ after she found me…er, at her cellar stairs, shall we say?" Julia reached William to make introductions. "Prudence Carter, this is my husband, Detective William Murdoch, and I believe you know Mr. Sherwood?" Julia was hoping she did not have to explain the frantic wrangling between Dennie, herself and the guard, over the staircase to the basement and how near a miss it was that the cook did not get an eye full of what she oughtn't.

"I understand there has been an unfortunate event in this house. Julia would not give me any details and I would not let it go. Therefore I am here and I insist you tell me what is going on!" Prudence Carter announced in a low, energetic voice, searching each man's face for answers.

 _Now I know more about what she and Julia have in common, including that stubborn streak,_ William realized. He saw their efforts at keeping a secret unraveling and fidgeted with his jacket briefly while trying to catch Julia's eye. _I should have known better_ , he rebuked himself. _Keeping people out of the house and in the dark was going to be nearly impossible. No wonder Ottawa wanted the guest list full of suspects and/or witnesses pared down so the rest could go on their way in blissful ignorance as soon as possible._ He suppressed a sigh. _Inspector Brackenreid warned me to be careful. I might be the titular new temporary Special Investigator, but this man has true power and Julia and I must watch our backs._ William and Sherwood looked at each other for a moment in a silent power struggle, before William deferred to the other man with a shrug and a small bow.

Sherwood began: "Mrs. Carter. I am sorry to inform you one of your guests has…passed away suddenly. Dr. Ogden was gracious enough to help us quietly place the remains where they will not disturb your party and your guests. We informed your father, of course as head of the household. He was quite insistent that none of his granddaughters be bothered…."

"Bollocks! My grandfather thinks of his female descendants as weak in both stomach and mind. I am quite capable of facing difficulties, Mr. Sherman." She turned to William. "My guess is that Julia did quite a bit more than chaperone a corpse, since Cook is going on about missing knives…" she said, directing her icy gaze to Julia next. Mrs. Carter then glared at all three of them as if they were school children caught out in some minor infraction.

Julia tried not to giggle. Prudence's language drew raised eyebrows from William and the suggestion of a smile from Sherwood.

Julia found an opening and spoke up. "Considering the difficulty we are going to have and our time constraints, perhaps it is wise to enlist more assistance?" Julia found her friend Prudence to be a singularly able individual who had dealings with Caleb Burke as well as a fine-grained understanding of local politics, business and Hamilton Society. In other words, perfectly suited to offer help.

William, on the other hand, considered Mr. Sherwood might just lock their hostess up, or was at minimal considering it. Instead, Sherwood was silent for several moments then sighed and offered Mrs. Carter a seat in her own library. "I will be blunt then. Someone has been killed. It is very important you go back and hostess your event as if nothing at all has occurred. Your guests, your servants, the reporters…no one must become aware of the death. It is a matter of national.. _.interest_ that they do not. We are concerned that the perpetrator may still be on the grounds, as well as believing there may be risks to other guests. Please be assured we have taken additional steps for the safety of all. Detective Murdoch and I were just talking about how best to handle things."

"Mr. Sherwood, Detective. You still have not told me who died." Mrs. Carter reminded him.

"It is Mr. Caliber Burke." William said; he was not going to offer any other details. He saw her grab the sides of her dress in her hands and crush the silk.

"Caleb? Oh, my God! Do you know who did this to him?" her voice quavered slightly, but she did not blanch.

Sherwood answered. "We are trying to ascertain that, Mrs. Carter. We found him on the ground floor…on the stairs."

"Oh…I noticed the broken light. Another death…" Julia crossed over to stand by her chair and offer support. _Dennie and her family certainly have suffered so many losses. Preventing some of them was the whole point of this gathering outside; how unfair an additional death should punctuate the day!_ Julia felt angry about that, reaching to squeeze Dennie's hand in solidarity.

 _There is no time for gentleness._ As intrusive as it was William took the opportunity to question her. "We have no known motive. Perhaps he had an argument recently, or some invited guest took a disliking to him…?"

Mrs. Carter took a deep breath before answering in that same low voice, this time with some of the brightness rubbed off. "Almost none of the people here today are fond of each other; in fact most _loathe_ each other. But if not liking someone was cause for murder, Detective, then there would be a bloodbath in my garden right now…" she quipped.

William had a new suggestion and frowned. "Mrs. Carter. This fund raising party…it was well-advertised, I imagine? There are reporters in attendance are there not? How were the guests chosen? Did you prepare a guest list as if it was a private party, or did individuals contact you to sign up, as it were and pay a donation for admission?" _If the guests were invited and then whomever prepared the guest list would have had a convenient roster of potential targets a person with an agenda could have exploited. I know large events such as this are planned months in advance, giving an assassin, or anarchists, for instance, plenty of time to set up…Even the choice of guests could have been intentional to get a specific person or set of persons in a vulnerable or dangerous position._ William's imagination spun with possibilities. _If it was open to the public, then anyone with an agenda could have just paid for a ticket and lain in wait._

"Both. My grandfather had already chosen the speaker, Mrs. Adelaide Hoodless, one of the founders of the Victoria Order of Nurses, among other accomplishments. Then we secured some initial, high profile donors who agreed to help sponsor the fundraiser. Once it became known they were going to be in attendance, there was a clamor for tickets which were snapped up in a single afternoon." She paused with a modicum of sarcasm in the curl of her lips. "Everyone wants to be close to the rich or famous, Detective Murdoch. It makes them believe they actually have a social relationship with their perceived betters, or are going to share in the reflected glory. How ridiculous to conflate friendliness with familiarity! And how sad…" She stopped and pursed her mouth as if the very thought was sour, then continued. "After choosing the day and getting the word out, I had only two weeks from public announcement until event," she said. William noticed she did not offer a modest feminine blush, nor did she appear to be boasting. "I have done all the organization and my sisters and I have been working around the clock to pull this off."

William was impressed; if Prudence Carter's organization skills were this sharp for a party then he imagined she could have been a powerhouse in business, if not for the very real prejudices against her gender.

Sherwood was interested in that compressed timeline as well. "Mrs. Carter, even if the public could invite themselves for the price of a ticket, may I assume you know, or know _of_ everyone who was invited? It would seem this party was designed to get wealthy individuals to 'pry as much money out of the pockets as possible' as I believe you so colourfully put it. I will put it to you plainly: do you have any reason to suspect any of your highly-placed guests would want to harm Mr. Burke, considering their standing in the community?"

Julia watched Prudence's lips twist closed and her eyes narrow. _Oh, oh…Dennie is about to launch…_ she held her breath as her friend cocked her head and gave a sly grin.

"Surely you don't expect people with money or power to also, _de facto_ , be civilized, do you?" She twitched her blue skirts. "That has not been my experience. If you are looking for motives…"

"Ladies, Detective Murdoch." Mr. Sherwood drew himself up. "May I remind you our primary responsibility is to eliminate panic by ensuring as many people as possible avoid having to be interviewed or put under suspicion while preventing any more…tragedy. Motive is secondary-that is being looked at by my operatives in Ottawa. Right now, we are trying to narrow down the time of death. Dr. Ogden, do you have any findings?" Mr. Sherwood asked and then waited for an answer.

Allowing Prudence Carter to become part of the discussion surprised William. _I am curious what Sherwood is up to_ … _.it is not something I would have done. Perhaps there is a subtlety in the spy business that eludes me._ He looked at Julia and nodded when she hesitated, offering his seat for her recitation.

Julia accepted the chair and extracted her notes. She saw William's surprise at allowing Dennie to remain and did a quick edit in her head of her recitation. She was not comfortable describing details about what the rest of them already witnessed firsthand, in front of Dennie. "Yes I do. As far as I can determine, the, er….cause of death is what we expected. I saw no evidence of peri-mortem trauma of any kind. I noted some _palor mortis_ , and _livor mortis_ had already occurred so he'd been.. _.there_ at least fifteen to twenty minutes. As there was no _rigor mortis_ , so less than four hours. But we already knew that, I believe, since everyone was out of the house by twelve noon, including, I assume, Mr. Burke. So, we have a time-of-death window of noon until I came into the hall at about two-twenty **.** _Algor mortis_ is compromised because of the, um…condition of the body, so exposed to air…" She cleared her throat, "But I would estimate he was dead no more than two hours at the most, possibly less if you consider the state of the blood spatter." She saw Dennie wince, but maintain eye contact. "Mr. August really cannot remember when he came into the house and found the body; I think he has a little retrograde amnesia, indicating he could have been passed out for quite a while. This still brings in the time-table to approximately noon until, say, two p.m., conservatively."

Sherwood was unhappy. "Unfortunately, that only confirms what we already knew about the timeline."

He said it without criticism, but Mrs. Carter rose to Julia's defense. "Mr. Sherman, you only had an assumption before, now you have facts. I should hope you'd appreciate that!"

Sherwood blinked. "Do you have more to add?" he asked, inviting Mrs. Carter to comment by turning to her and motioning with his hand.

She shook her head, downcast. "I was standing with my grandfather greeting guests. He excused himself about two forty-five and I believed it was to meet you, Detective Murdoch since I was aware of his appointment with you. I only noticed Mr. August was missing about the same time it registered to me that you had not come back with my fan, Julia. I hadn't thought much about it, only assumed you'd merely been waylaid by one of the potential donors in that throng outside and been captured in conversation. And then I looked around, to notice you were missing as well, Mr. Sherwood. When grandfather came back out, we greeted the last of the guests and I chatted with our speaker, Mrs. Adelaide Hoodless. Then I came inside to discover a commotion in the kitchen and man by the basement steps with Julia coming up them." She put her hand in her lap again and nervously plucked at the decoration on her skirts before commanding herself to stop.

"But _I_ might have something to add," Julia offered. "Mr. Burke was not intoxicated, and had consumed only some shortbread biscuits and lemonade," she glanced side-long at Dennie, "spiked with Pimm's I'd wager, or some similar alcohol. Hardly enough to do more than flavor the drink. The food was undigested so that gives about a two hour window at most from when he consumed it to when he died; less really because there was no evidence of stomach acid working on the material. If we could just figure out when he ate the biscuits that may give us a better time frame."

William saw Mrs. Carter's shoulders straighten and her head come up, then she stood, her ready energy seeming to flow back inside her, banishing the malaise. "I think I can help you with that. Lavender shortbread is a specialty of Cook; actually lavender items of all kinds are a trademark of mine when entertaining, since I love flowers." She was irritated at her own off-topic diversion. "What I mean is, the afternoon's refreshments were put out on a rather strict timetable. I can tell you precisely when the biscuits were started and ended being served!"


	3. Chapter 3

**-Chapter Three-**

 **William and Julia were alone** in the third floor billiard room with its large hearth on the back wall to warm it in winter and windows which cooled it in summertime with a nice cross breeze. Over the mantle was a realistic image which William took to be of a younger Endeavour Taggert, long before the years and facial hair overtook him. The artist showed a confident man with steely eyes, firm jaw, and the mere suggestion of humour with a crease in his cheek. The picture was remarkable for not being in the style of a stone-faced patriarch so popular in portraiture. He saw a slight yellow patina colour had surfaced the portrait and seeped into the wall paper and ceiling; _tobacco smoke_ was William's assessment. Otherwise the room was pleasingly proportioned and well-lit for play. The rest of the space was decorated with pictures of outdoor scenes, horses and family pictures, as was the entire third floor lobby, in what Julia referred to, rather pointedly, as a 'masculine style' with Merit Taggert's similarly decorated private library-office located in the room right next door. William was uneasy with her critique. _I am male and it is certainly not to my taste._ He suppressed a shudder at the thought of the hideously large deer head on display by the Taggert front door. _I wonder if Julia is giving me a message about the décor in our new home? Or a message about my taste?_ He hoped not…

Prudence Carter had gone back to her guests and Arthur Percy Sherwood accompanied her outside vowing to keep an eye on her, after firmly locking the basement door, and pocketing the key himself. _"…Detective,"_ Sherwood sounded harried. _"We must keep this whole business in secrecy and we need to act quickly. Your government is counting on you. I will station a man by the telephone to alert us immediately of any developments from my operatives that might prove useful."_

William remained annoyed by Commissioner Sherman's resistance to conducting interviews…and slightly smug he was able to turn the man to his will and let Julia and Mrs. Carter have a circumspect conversation with the cook about what refreshments were served when. _That_ interview brought them an additional piece of information that would have been helpful if only found out sooner. _Julia is certainly pleased with herself for coming up with it,_ he smiled to himself. _As well she should be_.

The dumbwaiter door by the billiard-stick rack was open so that William and Julia had no trouble at all recognizing indistinct conversations and metal-pot clanging sounds from the kitchen echoing up the long shaft. "If we can hear that noise, then it is fair to think the cook could have heard voices originating up in this room," William said as he examined the service box. He was distracted for a second by the mechanism: _Mr. Taggert must have had the Hamilton Otis Elevator Company design a miniaturized electrical lift system-fascinating!_ He was suddenly disappointed that his own proposed home only had one floor…. _Although we_ _will_ _have a basement…._ He was only pulled away from his meditation on the matter by Julia responding to him.

"William? I said I think so as well. Cook heard male and female voices coming from this room, raised in argument. It is too bad she could not tell exactly whose voices they were. Dennie was right as well: the cook knew _exactly_ when the trays of shortbreads went out and when they came back. We now have a one hour window for the time of death instead of two, assuming Caleb was alive when Cook heard the argument and if Caleb did not sneak anything from the kitchen to eat early, or pocket them for later **."** She paused. "Although I found no crumbs anywhere on his person or his clothing…"

"Also assuming that one of the voices she heard was in fact Caleb Burke's. We have to definitively place him up here." William was at a long fruitwood credenza, turning liquor bottles to the light for a better view of the labels. The smell of tobacco permeated the room and he found it mildly nauseating. "Pimm's No. 3," he announced to her, before placing it back on a tray next to other bottles. Used drinking glasses were collected in a basin, one of which smelled like lemonade and alcohol. He offered it to Julia to sniff, and she agreed. "Well, this circumstantially points to him being up here recently. We can check it for fingermarks to be certain."

Reaching into her pocket, Julia presented the card of impressions she took from the corpse. "I may not be as good as George Crabtree, but…" She felt a little as if she was a student bringing an apple to the teacher.

A smile of pleasure lit his face. "Julia! Excellent." He got out a small brush from his pocket and chose a little chalk dust. "Here, let me show you how this works. Now, we _are_ improvising after all…" He felt some of the tension between them dispel by working this way together.

"Oh, my, William! I do enjoy it when you improvise…" she just had to tease him about their most recent intimacy, and was rewarded by bright pink spots blooming on William's cheeks.

Sharing a smile, they bent their heads closely to the task, becoming totally engrossed. Fingermark-identification was one of those things Julia knew about in theory but had actually never personally done as it was outside of her area. She was comfortable within her psychological expertise and knew, without unwarranted pride, she excelled in forensic autopsy and pathology. However, even though her husband discussed his cases with her in detail, William's day-to-day collecting and examination of evidence was not something they shared in, unlike chemistry for which they both possessed nearly equivalent knowledge and skills.

Julia always knew William's other talents complemented or amplified hers in reciprocal fashion, which was why they made a good team over the years. With a small part of her mind she observed his movements. _This case is allowing me to see William as he manages an investigation each step of the way…_ _But it is ever so much more engaging to do each aspect with him as it happens. It gives me a whole new perspective on how he works a case; more than that… how his marvelous mind works!_

She found fingermark-enhancing was a little like using a paintbrush on canvas- there are certain brush strokes to use to achieve a desired effect. Just like painting, she discovered it takes the correct brush and the correct medium to produce good results; and it was harder than it looked. He patiently showed her just the right way to brush the dust on potential fingermarks, and made a running commentary on the pros and cons of substances used to raise the marks while she manipulated the brush and chalk. He then explained how to compare the marks on the glass to those on the card.

"Put this piece of dark cloth in the glass for contrast. Good. Now, look for the largest mark at about ninety to forty-five degrees to the long axis of the glass, as that should be the thumb. We do not know if Mr. Burke was right or left-handed, but since ninety percent of people are right-handed, start by comparing that mark to the right thumb impression on the card…"

Julia moved the card around until she found the right size and shape, then examined it using William's magnifier. When the patterns' matched she chirruped, "Got it!" and showed William what she'd discovered. _This is actually fun!_ she exulted _. Why does George carp so much about fingermark duty?_

William double checked and found himself in agreement with her. "Yes, you do! Well done," he told her. "As good as George," then hugged her, smiling to himself.

She looked so happy it was difficult to give her the bad news. "Unfortunately all that means is that he had a drink up here—look how many other glasses there are. There is no telling exactly when the drinking occurred and I think these have been overlooked for more than a day." William set the glass and fingermark card aside and secured the whole basin as evidence. "No. We need more that connects him to this room, _today._ I am most comfortable when we have three pieces of circumstantial evidence." He rubbed his forehead then started erasing the large chalk board to use for laying out his investigation.

Julia was buoyed by her success with fingermarks, so she smiled at her husband's frustration. "Cheer up, William! We already guessed he was up here on the third floor and most likely in this room. Stomach contents, the voices coming from this room and the time of the shortbreads being served: now we have a much better time line. That eliminated almost one hundred more people who arrived well-after the biscuits were taken away and the argument occurred."

"One hundred-three," William said as he wrote the number on the board, "leaving eighty-seven. That is still too many. We need a way to pare it down further, have another variable to use…" Another eight-beat chime drifted up in the quiet house. _Another hour gone,_ William sighed inwardly, so he said, "And we are running out of time." _Speaking of which,_ _more than anything,_ William told himself, _the timing of this death could not be by chance._ It niggled at the back of his brain uncomfortably.

He pointed to the paintings on either side of the chalk board. "I see the Taggert family's love for horses is on display. This was why I was schedule to interview his father on the horse-racing case in Toronto. There are questions about horses and gambling interests that he may have insight into…"

Julia exhaled exasperatedly. "That is _Endeavour_ Taggert's passion William: stallions for breeding- be it horses or human, and whether they conform to the expected standards of the breed."

He was not certain what to make of her comment so just stared at his data in hopes it would jar his brain. _No new insights are coming to me._ He grimaced and put the chalk down to come over to where Julia was looking out a window down onto the lawn as the assembled guests listened to Mrs. Hoodless.

"The ladies look like flowers in a garden, all those colours in their dresses…" Julia told him as she opened the window wider for more air. Flower beds ringed the clipped lawn, and they could see swaths of lavender in the sun with tall white lilies, ferns and other greenery shaded by arching trees. The whole effect was a unique restful suite of cool tones, blues, green and whites; not a single red rose, or the red geraniums so common in most gardens.

Julia told him that Mrs. Carter did all the work herself rather than have a gardener, as a way to 'vent frustration in a lady-like manner.' He appreciated the sentiment-physical activity as a method of blowing off agitation, much the way he took his wheel and rode it hard, or used to, when he was disturbed by something. _I like Julia's friend the more I learn about her,_ he recognized _._

"All the men are nearly dressed alike," William commented on the scene below. He looked at his own attire; it was more modern in cut than what Inspector Brackenreid affected and which most of the men in the garden wore, yet similar enough in colour palette. The only distinguishment differentiating the men's grey or black suits was the colour of tie, waistcoat or vest. He had selected his own best summer weight suit for the occasion of interviewing Mr. Taggert today, including a dark green silk tie Julia presented to him for his most recent birthday along with his new subscriptions. He admitted to himself it _was_ difficult to tell one of his own suits from another in the morning in low light as he got dressed…

"Which one of them down there pushed Caleb Burke over the railing and to his death?" Julia asked under her breath. "I was hoping we could eliminate half of the remainder of the list…" she pointed to the list of names they were working from.

He was surprised. "Half?"

"Yes. I was hoping we could eliminate either then men or the women after Cook said she heard voices through the dumbwaiter. I was disappointed she heard male _and_ female voices." She squinted at the scene beneath the window, and considered the psychological state of the killer. _If it was a paid assassin or someone with political motives, rather than nervous about what he had done, one would think he (or she) would be pleased—calm and proud possibly. What happens as time passes? Does that certitude fade and self-preservation—wanting to get away with it- change their demeanor? Can I tell by body language who might be a suspect?_ She strained her eyes on the crowded lawn. _I must explore this idea a little further._ "What possible motive did someone in that audience have?" she said to herself as much as to her husband.

William sighed. "Not love or money...?" He nodded out the window. "Julia, I am intrigued, what exactly is supposed to be accomplished by this event today? I cannot understand why a killer would choose this venue for their political statement, as Commissioner Sherwood believes."

"It is odd." Julia came away from the widow and studied the portrait over the mantel. "Could it be about tobacco? Mr. Taggert is a friend of Mr. William Macdonald, both being in the tobacco business. Mr. Macdonald has been instrumental in persuading Mr. Taggert to spend some of his wealth on civic beneficence, which is how this all started." Julia's eyes brightened. "William, didn't Mr. Sherwood allude to threats to the government and Prime Minister Laurier specifically? According to Dennie the Liberal Party is supporting tobacco interests and tobacco money is supporting the Liberal Party in return. Could that be the connection between Mr. Taggert and a political action?"

"Julia! You appear to be extremely well-informed. Mr. Sherwood _could_ have mentioned this," William grumbled. "But what about the event itself?"

"It is to raise money for women and children's health needs," Julia answered. "More specifically to prevent deaths associated with childbearing. There is an extraordinarily high maternal death rate, anywhere from nine women per thousand and above, as well as infant mortality of 100 to as high as 300 infant deaths per thousand, even in this day and age. That is unacceptable. What is not so clear cut is how to address that."

"What is the controversy about? Could that have something to do with Mr. Burke's demise?" William looked at his chalk board to see if there was room for another column.

Julia shook her head. "I don't see how, even though passions run very high on the subject. The death of Mrs. Hoodless' own young son prompted her to become a strong advocate for the betterment of new mothers to prevent them from needlessly losing their children due to ignorance. She wants women to be taught more about modern, hygienic methods to care for their families, which I consider to be a noble cause, especially among the poor and disenfranchised. I have heard her speak before—she is passionate, articulate and very persuasive. I recall one of her quotes: _"Is it of greater importance that a farmer should know more about the scientific care of his sheep and cattle than a farmer's wife should know how to care for her family?"_

"She has a good point," was his only comment.

"To that end, Mrs. Hoodless just helped found an Institute for domestic hygiene studies for women in Guelph, named for Mr. Macdonald. Mr. Taggert, who personally chose Mrs. Hoodless as our speaker by the way, also believes, as unfortunately does _she_ , that women are domestic creatures, unfit for anything but hearth and home—not business and certainly not politics or the vote! Mrs. Brackenreid, for instance, is a devotee of this point of view that women participate in political life through the agency of their husbands." Julia's tone made it clear what she thought of that. "Of course, Mrs. Hoodless is not herself confined to the home, considering her high public profile and influence. Slightly hypocritical if you ask me." She glanced at William to make sure he heard her frustration. "I will not ascribe Mr. Taggert's more repressive views to Mrs. Hoodless, but you get the point."

"I take it there is another side to the argument?" William prompted.

"Of course. It is part of what Dennie and I have in common—not that we believe there is too much focus on the children, because there is not nearly enough; but the belief that there is so little attention on the welfare of the mothers. The branch of medicine with the least prestige is that concerning the care of women. When a woman is pregnant and there is a difficulty with the birth, almost all the efforts are towards saving the child…at the expense of the mother. The child becomes worth more than the woman, William, for the sake of the father's bloodlines!" She felt her ire rise and took a breath to calm down before she made a blanket statement disparaging _all_ men, remembering the kind, wonderful man who was with her at the movement. "It is only recently that there have been some new ideas that help both women and their babies get though the birthing process. Dennie and I are hoping to convince donors to give money towards that end by founding a maternity hospital that provides the most advanced surgical training in these techniques for doctors and the best in care for women." Julia stopped suddenly and looked away.

"A noble cause, I'm sure." William understood completely Julia was passionate about this issue, but there seemed to be more. He waited and touched her hand. "Julia? What are you thinking?"

Julia straightened up and frowned, feeling unaccountably nervous having this discussion with William. "Female fertility, William. A blessing and a curse. Dennie's father had four wives, three of _them_ plus his own mother were lost to complications with childbirth. She compares it to the way tobacco exhausts the earth, how the seeds steal nutrients from the earth as they grow to how pregnancy and childbirth exhaust women…I certainly have seen that, which is why I support contraception as well. According to Dennie her father was going to get married again just before he died, trying for a son I suppose after age sixty!." She leaned against him for a moment, lost in her head. "I think what my own pregnancy, and now being infertile has cost…"

William knew the subject of children was still tender. He held her for a minute until her emotion passed, then chuckled with deliberately hooded eyes. "Besides, I could be the one who is infertile as well, Julia. Half the time it is the male's problem, is it not? And considering how often…" She was so close to him and so beautiful…the spark of lust flamed and he was inevitably drawn to her lips…

She swatted him good naturedly and sniffed, glad the moment of insecurity subsided swiftly. "Yes, William. I would have been pregnant long, long ago!" She righted herself and restored her skirts. "Back to work, _Detective_. Yes, well. I cannot imagine how the death of Mr. Burke could affect anything about raising money for maternal and infant medical care."

 _Work, yes…_ William squeezed her hand before letting go, then picked up his chalk, enjoying a bit of the arousal he always felt around his wife. _The major problem I can see in working a case with her is that I am as interested in the evidence as I am in her, and we both end up as physically aroused as we are intellectually_. He hid the colour rushing up his neck. _Well, that is not really a_ _problem_ _anymore…_

He grinned at her and looked up from under his lashes. "Agreed, _Doctor_. Mr. Sherwood is determined that the motive is a threat to national security, but I am still having trouble making the connection; however, you might be on to something about the tobacco angle. He seems to think there is someone down there whose motive is to press on some fissure in the government, to gain or disrupt power." He went back to the chalk board and finished his gridlines, adding more data to each box.

"Not the usual, more pedestrian motives we are used to working with, eh?" Julia came over to watch the chalk board be transformed into an analogy of William's mind; at least this is the way she saw it. Her mind, she knew, was organized into more discrete loci; William's was more layered and overlapping-always working, making connections and extrapolations, always… ' _on_.' She supposed that was why he was so good at unique problem-solving. _He is more than capable of expanding on a single hypothesis into a comprehensive solution, so watching him do this is fascinating; it reminds me what was so attractive about him from the beginning_. She was thoroughly relishing the role of co-detective on this case and told him so.

"I am rather enjoying the opportunity as well. In all our years together, we have never worked a case with just the two of us, or with such minimal equipment." He grinned again, thinking of Julia as a _pseudo_ Constable Crabtree. _Except I never felt the urge to_ _kiss_ _George!_ "I will remind you that I always believed you'd make a good police officer…"

"As to that, I know we are supposed to work on the timeline William, but I wanted to go over the trace evidence I found." Julia brought out folded papers from her pocket and laid them on the green-felt billiard table. "I have small amounts of blue-green dust, red dust and pollen which I found on his hands and on his clothing." She produced the scrapings. William examined them under the electric lighting then brought them to the window to get a better view of each sample under the magnifying glass he fished from his jacket. When that was insufficient, he exchanged that for a jeweler's loupe from another pocket, then asked her to evaluate them as well.

"It seems to me pollen is easily explained—the garden is filled with flowers, lilies in particular. As for the red dust, it is consistent with the red Potsdam sandstone with which the house is constructed." He examined his own hand. "I have some on my fingers from the window sill."

"Well," she said, pointing back to the billiard table. "We can compare the blue-green dust to the cue chalk I see here. " She picked up a cube of material wrapped in paper. "I understand it helps put spin on the ball."

"Yes. The physics of billiards are exceptionally intriguing. The conservation of linear momentum expresses the fact that a body in motion retains its total momentum, which of course is the product of mass times vector velocity, unless an external force is applied to it, not to mention the geometry…" He looked at her and stopped when he noticed she was smiling in that particular way she has that signaled he was going off on a tangent. He coughed and changed direction… _Much like a cue ball being acted on by an outside force,_ he laughed to himself. "Er, yes, silica and corundum with a binder of some sort. Julia, did you find talc on him or his hands?" William tapped the tray of white powder.

"No. None at all. Is that significant?" she asked.

He wiped his hands on a handkerchief and disappeared it back in to his jacket pocket. "Perhaps. If he was actually playing billiards with someone he likely would have used this talc to smooth his hands on the stick and it is so fine I imagine it would be impossible not to get some on one's clothing." He pointed to a smudge of white on Julia's skirt from when she was examining the glass for fingermarks and a blue-ish mark from the cue chalk, while she, in turn, tried and failed to find any on his dark clothing. She gave him an irritated look when he just shrugged at the lack of white, or-any-other-coulour mess on his still immaculate suit, while her outfit was getting more disordered by the hour. She was half-temped to even the score before recalling the seriousness of the situation, to refocus on what William was saying.

He went on with his thoughts. "All-in-all, I think we have enough circumstantial evidence that Mr. Burke was actually in the room, _with_ someone today. And I am guessing that 'someone' killed him because that encounter is the tail end of the possible time of death." He took another circuit around the billiard table, then came back to stand in front of the chalk board. "Why here and why now?"

"I have been thinking about that as well, William. If it was a planned murder, then the killer would have had to lure him up here for the express purpose of murdering him. Perhaps by offering a bored young man a game of chance?"

"Mr. Taggert did say he was fond of spending time in this room, with Miss Charity Taggert, I believe? I wish we knew more about Mr. Burke's habits. It is infuriating not to be able to interview anyone for information!" William scowled at his chalk board and at the boxes he could not fill in with data.

 _Poor William_ , she mused. _He looks like a caged lion…a grumpy one at that_. She wanted to offer him something to help distract him, and decided now was a good time to share gossip. "Well, it is hear-say, of course, but Dennie described him to me as bright, socially adept...the word she used was _charming_ …with exceptionally shrewd business instincts even though the instincts were untrained. Her grandfather had her teaching him accounting and showing him how their factory was set up to get efficient production. He was not good at the day-to-day grind and minutia of business, however. She knew he was fond of gambling—cards, billiards," she motioned across the room. "And horses."

"So you think he could have been persuaded to come up here for a game?" William looked thoughtful.

"Yes. Or at least brought up here on a pretext of some kind, especially since the third floor and this room are isolated."

"Julia, that makes sense because you want to kill someone with privacy in mind and up here is fairly private…"

"But, William. Pushing someone over a railing seems to my mind to be more spontaneous…and, er…not at all private, come to think of it." The exchange of ideas flowed between them, building a kind of energy they both felt. Julia noticed William's eyes shone.

He speculated, moving as he talked. "Unless, as was the case, it was planned for no one to be around to hear the commotion. Perhaps pushing him over the railing was a manoeuver so it could be disguised as an accident?"

"If it was discovered, in mid-act so to speak, the person could plead that case?" she asked excitedly.

William gestured broadly, more questions percolating upwards. "Conversely, there was another murder method available but the assassin improvised when the opportunity presented itself? Hitting that newel post seems to have been a chancy thing—certainly not anticipated, do you think?" William did a quick formula in his head. "Julia, do you think he would have lived if he had merely fallen through to the bottom?"

"I have seen people survive long falls, William. You, in fact…" She recalled his fall from a building several years ago, other deaths by falling she attended over the years, as well as patients who survived. "However, if you add in the stairs, the angle of the fall and the odds of a spinal cord or head injury…No. I calculate only the slimmest chance of survival."

"So in either case, the intent was to kill. After all, security _was_ only watching the perimeter." William considered that an error the Dominion Police were going to have to answer for. _My instincts tell me this scheme to appoint me Special Investigator is going to provide a convenient scapegoat or distraction from the real security failure. Inspector Brackenreid is unfortunately all too correct—it will be my hide._ He decided that error was going on his mental list of questions for Mr. Sherman.

Julia started thinking out loud. "Getting Mr. Burke up here while everyone was out of the house and the service staff was busy was perfect timing, brilliant in fact. Perhaps the killer slipped in right as everyone left—say right at noon and laid in wait. Then, on the way out there is a servants' staircase so the killer did not have to go down and out the front staircase, which is why there was no smearing of the blood spatter." Julia was disturbed at how easy it was. "Or, all they had to do is fade out of the crowd for precious few minutes and then fade right back in. A man and a woman were heard arguing. Was that Mr. Burke and a woman? A different man and woman? Two people, male and female, confronting Mr. Burke? And why, for Heaven's sake, Mr. Burke specifically and why now?"

"Exactly." William thought Julia had a very good grasp on the permutations. _Why indeed? We keep coming back to motive, as much as Commissioner Sherwood dislikes that._

They both heard the clock chime again. William was less and less charmed by having the time constantly marked in this way, discovering it was actually quite irritating. "I think we have many more questions for Mr. Sherwood. He may be satisfied with a shorter list of suspects, but I am not. I also want to know what he knows and hopefully his operatives have reported back to him about any credible threats." He looked at his work on the chalk board. 'Means' was a given. The 'Opportunity' heading was much, much too crowded. 'Motive' was topped off with 'National security threat' followed by his and Julia's speculations about alternatives: Horse racing/gambling related to Mr. Endeavour Taggert? Tobacco/Politics/Liberal Party? Fundraising? Personal to Mr. Burke?

"I also have this." From her other pocket she drew out a long gold chain and placed it on the green felt. "He had no other possessions on him. Just this."

William picked it up. "Hmmm. A watch chain with cigar-cutter, but no watch? How odd." He turned over the two coins anchoring the end of the chain which customarily held a timepiece. He took his magnifier out again. "A British Gold sovereign dated 1840, and an 1873 United States Trade dollar. What strange mementoes."

"Well…he _was_ American, William." They shared a moment of humour and understanding about the inexplicable ways of their neighbours to the south.

He looked again at his chalk notes. "And that does bring us back to tobacco, international business interests…"

Julia added: "Politics…"

Together they said: "And Mr. Burke."

# # #

 **"…And, lastly, we wish to search Mr. Burke's room in Myrtle House."** William and Julia had Mr. Sherwood cornered by a lilac tree under planted with _nicotiana,_ with a list of questions and demands, far enough away so as not to be overheard by the rest of the people who were universally enthralled by Mrs. Hoodless' stem-winder of a speech. "You may be satisfied with only eighty-seven suspects or witnesses; I am not. Dr. Ogden and I will share our findings, but I must ask you to level with me, _with us_ , Commissioner Sherwood. Like it or not I am _your_ Special Investigator, and this is _my_ investigation and there is still time left on the clock!" William worked long and hard on how to approach Sherwood, and having noticed he approved of what Inspector Brackenreid would have called 'cheek,' decided to channel the inspector's persona in hopes of getting what he needed. He was tired of Sherwood's elliptical answers; therefore he waited while glaring directly in the man's face.

Sherwood spent a long time staring back. This time William saw the cunning, flat black eyes looking out from Sherwood's face, the predatory gaze he expected from a subtle spy. William recognized Sherwood was not angry at the challenge, he was calculating on a whole other level. _Julia reminded me not to bury myself in the part, but…_ William knew it was supremely important not to be the first to back down, so he continued to wait. And wait.

Sherwood blinked.

"Detective, doctor. What I am about to tell you is top secret. _Top_. _Secret,_ " he intoned in a stern voice. Sherwood did not get the reaction he expected. Citizens who are confronted with the possibility of learning deep, dark, dangerous secrets are usually either frightened or excitedly intrigued-or an unhealthy combination of both-which he was often able to turn to his advantage. These two did not do more than look slightly annoyed. _Well, I can't have that…_

"We have been inundated recently with signs of domestic and international unrest, targeted on bringing down the government, by fracturing our current political parties from within. If all the major parties are in disarray, then untold mischief can occur in a power vacuum. One such line of attack is on Prime Minister Laurier himself. If what I am about to tell you reaches outside the three of us—whether or not I can prove it was you who leaked the information—I will have you taken away for treason so fast it will be like the earth opened up and swallowed you. Detective, are you sure you really want to go further?" Sherwood turned to Julia, but directed his words to William. "Even if you want to risk it, is it fair to her? More to the point: are you absolutely sure you want to risk your wife's _life_ by having her a party to this?"

William felt a chill shoot through him and gooseflesh pop on his body. _This man is a totally different animal from Terrance Meyers._ He automatically turned to physically shield Julia. "Doctor, I think you'd better…."

"Go on, Mr. Sherwood," she said. Her heart drummed in her chest. William's hand was squeezing her arm so tightly she yelped. "William, stop that!" she hissed, wincing.

"Julia," he whispered desperately, "I refuse to put you in any danger! Haven't we just been through enough?" The urge to grab her again was nearly overwhelming.

His eyes were large and slightly wild, and she saw he was pleading with her to be sensible. "William! This is what we asked for. I refuse to back down now. Besides, I don't plan to betray my country, do you?"

He ground his teeth and held her angry blue eyes with his. "Of course not! That is not the point…" _We are going to extricate ourselves right now; I will find another way_ , he implored in his head. _Just follow my lead on this Julia…_ He hoped she understood his unspoken message, then he realized: _The question is if she will agree…._

Julia turned from William to look directly at Sherwood. "If the Dominion Police have a change of heart, they can come get us at any time, is that not correct?" She held William's arm until he stopped staring at her, so they could both look at the Commissioner. _When is William going to accept we are in this together?_ she thought stubbornly. _Always together!_ "Please answer the question, Mr. Sherwood."


	4. Chapter 4

**-Chapter Four-**

" **Detective," inquired the commissioner, "is she always like this?"**

Arthur Percy Sherwood knew that was rhetorical almost as it came out of his mouth _…It was obvious in the mix of pride and terror on Murdoch's face_. Sherwood could not help but contrast the straightforward attitude in front of him with the convoluted machinations of his masters. Because, in reality, he served many masters, most of whom were at odds with each other…and completely ignorant of the existence of each other as well. So far, these two persons in front of him were behaving exactly as the reports he had on them would have predicted. _Intelligent. Logical. Loyal. Persistent._ And he had to admit: _Brave_.

He was deeply pleased at the opportunity to recruit them for the DP. _Each of them has also killed a person, two in the case of Dr. Ogden._ The only problem with Detective Murdoch and his wife was their uncompromising insistence on the truth.

 _Hell,_ he thought, _no one's perfect._ At the end of the day, his decision was simple. He smiled pleasantly, bowing slightly first in one direction and then the other. "You first, detective…doctor."

Julia nodded to her husband; her bravado suddenly evaporating. _There is no going back._

He looked at her face and returned the nod. _This is not the first, and with Julia, not likely to be the last time I ask myself 'What have we done?_ ' William took a deep breath and began in a low, urgent voice. "I believe you when you say there are credible threats to the functioning of the Canadian government which, for some reason, were focused here in Hamilton. Why else would you and your security be here for what is for all intents and purposes, a party? There was only security on the perimeter of this venue. Why is that?" He did not anticipate an answer from Sherwood, so offered one himself.

"I believe that was because you _expected_ a threat to come from the outside, an embarrassing disruption of some sort, a shooting perhaps, or even a bomb-throwing anarchist, for which you were well-prepared. Unfortunately, when a dead man was found _within_ the house, you felt it was evidence your intelligence was compromised…which is why you hatched this scheme for me to be your special investigator. I believe what your office has actually been doing these last few hours is not so much checking into threats to the national interest but reevaluating your own operatives and informants." William observed Sherwood's face remained unmoved, but saw the pupils of his eyes dilate. "I have been a convenient place-holder; nothing more." William found he was stung by the perceived slight, and surprised at himself for possessing such a wounded ego.

He bore on. "When you first saw the body, you said, quote: 'It's not him.' You were expecting a particular victim, were you not? At least in so far as you received a preliminary description of the man. I believe you have been harbouring the assumption a particular guest is in danger—or you have a list of guests," William curled the left side of his mouth in a wry smile, "about whom you have detailed files, and any of whom could be targets for myriad reasons."

Sherwood did not move, barely breathed. William was satisfied: _I see I have the man's full attention._ "I believe you were relieved when you saw it was Caliber Burke who had been killed, because he was not on the list of potential targets or individuals under your protection. Was he randomly chosen for death to sow fear? Doubtful, since no one has taken responsibility. You really _did_ hope it was an accident, because that would mean it had nothing to do with threats or security. When we proved it to be deliberate, you became concerned that the death was a case of mistaken identity— you believed the assassin killed the wrong man and was still on the grounds, blending anonymously into the party. That was the reason why you demanded complete secrecy about the victim… It would not surprise me if the man you think was the intended victim has been quietly spirited away by Officer Broadstreet so that the assassin and other co-conspirators could believe they got away with it. That explains why we have not seen Mr. Broadstreet." Sherwood moved his head noncommittally.

"Preventing us from gathering evidence or conducting interviews, not to mention failing to disclose the connections has seriously hampered my investigation," William continued, allowing his frustration to show. "We want to know the identity of the man you believed was the intended target."

Sherwood was prepared. "Armand LaVergne," he answered. "I believe it was Armand LaVergne. He has entered Liberal Party politics and hopes to stand for Montmagny in the upcoming by-election. He was visiting Niagara Falls and when he learned about this event, made sure to attend today so see and be seen…he has a, shall we say, natural instinct for politics. Monsieur LaVergne and Mr. Burke are of a similar build, strikingly so that they could be twin brothers except for a difference in age and that Monsieur LaVergne is over six feet, and has more refined features than Mr. Burke. They have the same chestnut hair, the same high foreheads, mustaches, and are dressed similarly today with the exception of Monsieur LaVergne's waistcoat and cravat which are…I believe the colour is referred to as _aubergine."_ Sherwood saw that both of them expected more. "And yes, he is well and gone from here."

"Why would _he_ be a target?" William was not convinced he had all the relevant information.

Sherwood said: "Monsieur LaVergne is a thorn in many people's backsides, or a loose cannon as it were, in the view of highly placed individuals…"

Julia saw Mr. Sherwood shift slightly and suspected he was preparing to lie. She sent a warning glance to William. "You did not answer the question, Mr. Sherwood," she cautioned.

A long pause followed before Sherwood started to surrender. "The Liberals champion Provincial rights and as you know, our Prime Minister is a master at negotiation and compromise. However Monsieur LaVergne is an adherent of anti-British fire-brand Henri Bourassa and the PM has been worried that, given his way, Monsieur LaVergne would toss all the English in the river in his quest to preserve French Canada. Young, idiot, rabble-rouser if you ask me, but he has a following. You must appreciate…our Prime Minister is at the height of his power and prestige. He will not tolerate anything… he cannot _afford_ to indulge anything that will diminish his credibility and esteem or his ability to negotiate freely. There is too much at stake internationally and within the Dominion."

"Commissioner Sherwood! You are prevaricating. I hoped you would speak plainly. How would a threat to Monsieur LaVergne or his death affect the Prime Minister or national security?" William spoke sharply. He felt Julia jump slightly, unused to witnessing such vehemence when he went after a suspect for the truth. He searched for her hand and grasped it to reassure her.

The commissioner answered in a tight voice. "Because it is rumoured that Monsieur LaVergne is actually the Prime Minister's…er… _natural_ son." Sherwood exhaled sharply.

William and Julia looked at each other, slack-jawed in surprise. "So, a threat to Monsieur LaVergne might shape Mr. Laurier's actions? Or perhaps blackmail pressure? Surely such a vague rumour is a stretch…" asked William.

Sherwood paused again. "No, unfortunately it is not. If you ever saw pictures of a youthful Wilfrid Laurier and Monsieur LaVergne side by side... Worse yet, Monsieur LaVergne's mother is the wife of Mr. Laurier's old law partner." Sherwood opened his arms and shrugged. "Well. You can imagine…"

Julia understood very clearly the psychological reactions, the loss of trust or sense of betrayal in the public's eye that could be exploited for political gain, potentially dissolving the current government. She spoke up, voice clear and direct. "His death would churn as many rumours as his life in politics would. It would not matter if they were true or not, would it? If one says something often enough and loud enough, weak-minded or venal individuals will believe it and parrot it about." She saw Sherwood nod once. "Eventually that new narrative takes the place of all rational discourse; the ultimate distraction."

"Sir, Dr. Ogden and I do not believe it _could_ have been mistaken identity. While we cannot prove the voices Cook heard included Caleb Burke and his killer or killers, we _know_ he was on the third floor, can place him in the billiard room, and a putative argument was overheard within the prescribed timeframe. There is too much evidence that the killer and Mr. Burke had to have some sort of extended interaction. A long-range gunshot might mix up two similar men, but not a face-to-face scuffle."

Julia added. "Commissioner Sherwood, we are certain Mr. Burke himself was the intended victim."

"Which means you no longer need to concern yourself about a national security threat, or one to Mr. Laurier. You should call in the Hamilton Police, now, Commissioner." William was not happy to give up the case, but common sense dictated their course of action: this was Hamilton and the Toronto Constabulary had no jurisdiction.

Julia's excitement was draining off. In the background she heard polite applause directed at Mrs. Hoodless. Julia was disappointed at being sidelined from additional investigation, yet agreed with William that under the circumstances they must withdraw and turn it over to the proper authorities. Soon the programme would end and new refreshments would be served in a huge white tent set with tables, while public pledges for money were garnered and cheque books pried open. In under an hour the garden and house would be empty.

"Thank you, Dr. Ogden, Detective Murdoch," Sherwood told them, letting a mirthless smile appear on his lips. "I will take that under advisement," he deadpanned. The commissioner reached into his pocket to reveal a telegramme. "That is not your call to make," he coughed genteelly. "Nor mine. Mr. Laurier himself appointed you special investigator and that appointment does not expire until the man Ottawa sent gets here to replace you." He waved the paper. "His train has been unavoidably delayed. No. The Hamilton constabulary will not be informed, even if you believe this is a crime of a more pedestrian nature."

William was uncomfortable with that news, while interested his wife seemed rather more cheerful upon hearing it. _Good Lord, what is she thinking?_ "What would you have me do, Mr. Sherwood? That is, if this is not a matter of political intrigue or our national interest needing preservation?"

"It is still embarrassing to the government…to my service in particular, and will upset many people. A large part of my job is to allay people's fears, regardless if they are well-founded or not; almost _especially_ if they are, if you understand me. When events are dire, it is ultimately important that the citizens remain calm and no one panics." He gestured with his head over to the assembled guests. "You don't suppose that learning a murder occurred mere yards away whilst you were sipping tea and lemonade will go unremarked by the rich and politically-connected here in Hamilton, do you? Especially an _unsolved_ murder?" Sherwood focused his gaze on the couple. _I think I have the doctor on board, now the right bait for her husband._ "As you say, there are still eighty-seven possible suspects and less than an hour, more or less, to identify your killer…assuming you are able."

William made a face. "That is too many and you know it. In my view the timing of his death is suspicious. If we can rule out national-political motives, Dr. Ogden and I have a theory that his death may be related to my visit here to interview Mr. Taggert concerning a Toronto murder investigation-he died right before my scheduled appointment which I count as too big a coincidence. That makes a new theory of the crime confined to more local politics or something personal to Mr. Burke. Perhaps if we can eliminate any who clearly had no motive, then we can work on those who had opportunity."

Sherwood's eyes glittered. _Now to set the hook._ "That is why I am going to give you as much information as I can about Mr. Burke and anyone here today who might have motive to kill him, including any knowledge I possess about Mr. Taggert's or Mr. Burke's activities, so you can start choosing individuals to interview. But I must insist on discretion, Detective. Our Prime Minister has placed you in a unique position… " Sherwood paused as one of his men approached, and walked a short distance away. The guard leaned forward, saying something very long and animatedly.

William and Julia saw Sherwood's eyes track part of the audience and his face become grim, the first time the commissioner showed any genuine disquiet. "William," Julia whispered, "what could possibly upset _that_ man?"

"Precisely my own thoughts; it does not bode well." He turned his back so that his and his wife's words were shielded from being overheard. "Julia, it bothers me Mr. Sherwood has been so unnecessarily evasive. I am not sure I trust him to give me straight answers." He caught her eye. She was giving him one of these _looks_ again that make him stop and reevaluate. "I am not sure I trust _anyone_ here except you!"

 _Oh, William! I feel the same about you._ Julia spent a moment contemplating her husband. _Does he know he just got manipulated into agreeing to continue to investigate? It is so like him to be unable to drop something-and he talks about me!_ She felt an affectionate, warm spot in her whole being for him and his expression of trust in her…accompanied by an overwhelming urge to poke fun at him. "Why, William! You sound _just_ like Terrence Meyers!" When his eyes shifted into an expression of distaste and disbelief she just laughed at him until he was forced to acknowledge the joke. They were still quietly amused when Mr. Sherwood came back to them. His expression put their humour away quickly.

Sherwood gave no preamble. "Detective Murdoch, Dr. Ogden. It seems you have run out of time after all. We are losing control of the scene and the attendees. Our hostess, Mrs. Carter, is insisting my men open the gates because the newspaper reporters are trying to leave-they want to get their articles into the evening editions of the papers. She is complaining they must be able to file their stories or this whole affair will be for naught." He frowned sourly. "Stopping them will cause more problems, of course, because the reporters will make their usual fuss and the fine citizens at this party expect their pictures to be published. Mrs. Carter already has the photographer packed up and halfway to the street." He shook his head to clear his irritation. "You two will have to work faster. The only good news is that the press will be gone and the evening editions set before this all comes out..." He was musing on damage control when the pair in front of him erupted.

" _There are photographs!?"_

William and Julia competed with each other for who said it faster and with more surprise, then looked at each other in amazement. "Who took the pictures? When did he come? Do not let them leave. What sort of pictures are these? What kind of camera was it? Where are the plates or the film now? Get your men to secure that camera."

Sherwood's head swung from doctor to detective as they rattled off excited questions and commands. He grabbed Murdoch's arm to slow the man down. "One at a time, please. There was one photographer here taking pictures this afternoon."

William complied. "Mr. Sherwood, depending on the content of the pictures, we can possibly use the photographs to create a timeline of who had opportunity to kill Caleb Burke. Between that and information about motive it will be possible to rapidly eliminate suspects. We employed a similar tactic once before…"

"On Alderman Hidell's murder, I believe?" Sherwood supplied. Of course this high-profile case was in their file; he knew that was one of the reasons Murdoch was likely to accept the job today. "I believe you left the coroner's office the first time right after that case, did you not, Dr. Ogden?"

"Never-mind that!" Julia snapped, stung at the difficult memory and shocked Sherman knew about her activities, causing her to speak more cuttingly than she intended. She hated to be reminded of that part of her past, no matter that William seemed genuinely able to put it all behind them. She took a breath to calm down and smiled at her husband, locking her gaze on his excited brown eyes. "William. Shall I will get that camera while you get information from Mr. Sherwood?" She motioned to the DP officer that was hovering around, and after Mr. Sherwood gave assent, dragged him off to find the camera and whoever took the pictures, hoping he had not been allowed to leave. William watched her briefly as she sailed off on her way to the gate, tacking through the crowd milling about for tea and the expected financial reckoning.

William did not like how Commissioner Sherman was also so intently watching his wife's retreat. _I detect an unhealthy interest in Julia from his direction._ He did not like that idea so cleared his throat loudly, which had the intended effect of getting the other man to redirect his eyes back to the present conversation. "Commissioner Sherwood. Do you want to start with who you think we can eliminate and let go, or who needs to be detained and interviewed? I imagine that information is close at hand…" William brought his leather notebook out and his pencil was poised over an unmarked sheet.

Sherwood held Murdoch's gaze, and this time both men broke the contact at the same time. Sherwood's subtle mind knew when to engage in a contest and when to only appear to do so; he let Murdoch win before, but it was time to reset the dynamics. "Detective Murdoch. There are several invited guests who have had business of one kind or another with Mr. Burke. I have really very little on the man himself, only a rough outline. Since coming to Hamilton little more than seven weeks ago he has scraped the acquaintance of several prominent businessmen, _and their daughters_ ," he said with a certain emphasis, "has discovered the pleasures of a dissipated life in Hamilton to be much the same as in Richmond, Virginia, including gambling, and generally behaved like any young man of means—although he's getting to be a bit old for calling these habits 'youthful indiscretions.' He has not come to the attention of the local constabulary. He was intelligent, genial, half-heartedly interested in his father's business, and of no known threat to the government of Canada." He turned towards the tent and inclined his head. "Mr. Taggert, now there is a man with enemies." He made a short, hard laugh. "You do not live eighty-plus years and make no impression. I am told he made a decent Mayor. However in his commercial interests, Mr. Taggert is sly, calculated, and successful; even his enemies admire his ruthless business sense. His passion for horses and horse racing are well known and he has been lobbying for changes in the law to allow official, legal betting schemes on racing. But I assume you know that. I suppose it is _possible_ Mr. Burke could have damaging knowledge about Mr. Taggert, however unlikely, and was silenced…"

William perked up. "How so?" This is what he was concerned with all along; the murders in Toronto being connected with Mr. Taggert in Hamilton and Mr. Burke getting caught in the middle.

Sherwood laughed harshly again. "I wish you luck, Detective. As far as we know, Mr. Taggert is an upstanding businessman. If someone thinks they discovered something untoward about Mr. Taggert, I want to hire them for the Dominion Police service, because they discovered what we have not. No. I can save you the trouble of investigating Mr. Taggert—he bends circumstances, and people, to his will, but he will not break the law." He reached into his breast pocket and brought out a page, folded lengthwise. He opened and scanned the page. "May I have your notebook?" he asked, with an outstretched hand.

William fought with himself for a moment and then turned it over, annoyed at Sherwood preemptory manner, before remembering exactly who Sherwood was. Then William swallowed down his irritation; _it would not do to make an enemy of this man_. When the notebook was returned to him, there were six names written in a bold hand. _From eight-seven down to six!_ Only one was familiar to William, so he looked at the commissioner for more details.

"The first one took exception to Mr. Burke's attentions to his sister, the next four are involved in gambling, and the last is…"

William finished for him. "Trevor Howard, one of Mr. Taggert's employees and soon-to-be-grandson-in-law."

# # #

 **"Stop!" Julia lunged past a startled servant to catch an edge of the wrought iron gate as it swung shut**. The Dominion Police officer was right behind her, and used the opening she created to slide through and halt a tall man who was struggling under a set of sticks over his left shoulder and a large, heavy case in his right hand. Fortunately the commotion went unnoticed by the other newspaper gentlemen who raced on ahead to waiting horses for the ride to their publishers' offices.

"Sir! I must ask you to come with me." The officer collected the photographer and redirected him back inside the gate faster than he could complain regarding the muzzling of a free press. A lone petite woman, dark-haired, and sporting round gold wire-rimmed glasses, stood outside and protested. "Where are you taking him?" she cried, as she swung back towards the house to join her companion.

Julia had no idea what to tell the woman, assuming she was his sweetheart or another reporter, and was going to leave her outside without an explanation when she though the better of it—mindful of the need for discretion. Thinking furiously, she came up with an excuse. "The, er, speaker desired another photograph. He'll be along in a minute." Julia was closing the latched when the woman pulled the gate out of her hands.

"Well, if that's the case, he won't get far without this." The woman held out a Kodak box camera in front of her with a smirk, looking at Julia impatiently. When Julia offered to take the camera off her hands and deliver it so the woman could depart, she clutched it more tightly.

Unwilling to cause a scene, Julia shrugged and allowed the woman to enter, closing the gate behind, then directed her after the DP man and photographer. They were intercepted by Dennie on the lawn.

"Julia!" Dennie's cheeks were flushed. "Genevieve? Where are you going…? You have a deadline…." She stood, barring their way, glaring at the pair.

"Prudence, is this your friend, Dr. Ogden?" The woman identified as Genevieve asked, smiling brightly and extending her hand to Julia.

Julia took it politely, feeling a firm grip in return. Out of a corner of her eye she saw the photographer disappear into the house and, worried about falling behind, tried to extricate herself and her charge to keep moving. Dennie stopped her, making abrupt introductions. "Yes. This is Dr. Julia Ogden. Julia, meet my friend Miss Genevieve Latcher. Julia, please let Miss Latcher get on her way. Hasn't this been bad enough…?" She barely stopped herself from explaining too much. "We have gone to so much trouble to lose out on the necessary publicity! You of _all_ people should understand…" Julia saw that Dennie was actually pleading, an unusual occurrence in an otherwise demanding person.

The photographer and Dominion Officer were nowhere in sight, leaving Julia with a sense of dread. _Time is imperative._ Her thoughts wandered briefly _. How would William handle this?_ She considered how he might use his position as an officer of the law, or his size or position…she had none of those. Instead she summoned up her own authoritative voice, honed from years of working with men who tried to obstruct her. "I do understand. I really do. _Mr. Sherman_ has requested the photographer return and Miss Latcher," she pointed to the Kodak camera currently nestled in brown lace which softened the neckline of the woman's suit, "has the man's equipment which she will only relinquish to him. The newspapers will have to wait; I'm sure that if it is important enough they will."

Julia felt a deep stab of guilt for not helping Dennie make the case for the needs of mothers, leaving it all for her to accomplish. _Some friend I turned out to be today_ , she thought sadly. She hoped Dennie would get the message and cease fussing. Not waiting for any more discussion, she took Miss Latcher's elbow and swung her towards the house, leaving Dennie to her job as hostess and her skills of getting money from the local gentry.

Genevieve Latcher did not like to be moved along so briskly, Julia observed. _Perhaps it has something to do with the narrow skirt of her_ _severe brown suit._ Julia took pity on her and slowed down long enough to see the intelligence in the woman's blue eyes, as well as humour in a mobile mouth set over even white teeth. "Miss Latcher, I apologize for this and I will get you an explanation as soon as we get inside."

A delightful peel of laughter followed. "Dr. Ogden, I will get my own explanations. For instance. Where were you this afternoon? Prudence was counting on you."

Julia took in a short breath. _It never occurred to me I'd be missed...now what?_ "How observant, Miss Latcher. You are acquainted with the newspaper I take it? An assistant to the photographer, perhaps?" She reached for the door and ushered her companion in ahead of her, searching the oval ballroom with her eyes and listening for sounds of William or Mr. Sherman. Disappointed, she made for the main hall.

More musical laughter came from Miss Latcher's direction. "Oh, dear, Prudence did not tell you. I _am_ the photographer. Richard Perkins is along for show and to carry things for me. And for instances where my…" she gestured at herself.

"Gender…?" Julia guessed.

" _Height,_ becomes a drawback."

Julia flushed, embarrassed by assuming that a woman could not fulfill the role of photographer. "I apologize again, Miss Latcher for, well, thinking you were a helper and not the principle." She sighed. "I must do better to support accomplished women, starting with my own failings of imagination."

"Prudence allowed me to be the exclusive photographer for today, and paid me for my time." Her humour dimmed, replaced by irritation. "However, if I do not get my film developed, printed and to the papers before it goes to press, I will not get paid the other half of my fee from the papers."

Julia was puzzled. "Then why stop and come back in, Miss Latcher?"

"It's Genevieve, please," she responded, this time with red flaming on her cheeks. "Richard…Mr. Perkins, has most of the film because the case is too large and too heavy for me to carry. I need it back!" she demanded.

There was no one in the main hall, but the library doors were shut. Julia walked up and listened, hearing William's voice within. _He hates to have his interrogations disrupted,_ she knew, _but he needs to talk with my witness._ Julia felt pleased to think of Miss Latcher as such, and knocked on the door. There was a long pause in the voices emanating from the library, and then William parted the double doors, a wary look on his face. She cut him off from complaining to announce, with a tinge of pride: "Detective, this is Miss Genevieve Latcher. She is the actual photographer and the film belongs to her."

William's worried face lightened and he slid open both doors to admit the ladies. "Splendid!" he said and gave an openly grateful look to Julia, making her insides thrill again to be part of the investigation.

Within the library, a man Julia took to be Mr. Perkins was sitting stiffly with too much white showing around his irises, and perspiration beading his forehead that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. _He looks terrified,_ she concluded. _It is disconcerting to think William could have that effect on someone._ She noted Mr. Sherwood and one of his men looked on grimly and that William did not offer any introductions.

William quickly settled Miss Latcher next to Mr. Perkins and began. "Miss Latcher, I am Detective William Murdoch, of…" He checked himself; "I am working for the Canadian government, on a very tight timeline and need your help. Before you ask, I am not at liberty to explain." This was the second time he'd uttered those words and he did not believe it would ever _not_ sound ridiculous. _I am no Terrance Meyers,_ he sighed, sending a quick glance towards Commissioner Sherwood. _I refuse to say 'It's classified' out loud._ Instead, he continued: "What can _you_ tell me about the photographs you took?"

As William guided Miss Latcher through a series of questions, Julia was impressed at how rapidly he got to the heart of the matter. Miss Latcher took a photograph of practically each and every person who attended the event and larger views of the event as a whole from the audience and from the speaker's platform-she was quite thorough. Unfortunately that meant there were literally hundreds of photographs to consider; the benefits of this new way to take images on relatively inexpensive continuous film, rather than cumbersome glass plates.

 _She'd make a good police photographer_ , he praised her in his head. "Miss Latcher, how will you choose the ones to publish?" he queried, clearly trying to come up with a way for him to narrow the number down.

The photographer rummaged around in her case and produced a ledger or logbook of some sort. "I marked each roll and have a list of who is featured in each picture on that roll. I will send several to the various local and out of town editors who will pick the photographs they want to print in their papers, most probably based on who has the most social prominence or prestige. The remainder of the photographs will be offered for sale to the individuals who appear in the pictures." She had an amused turn on her mouth. "It is amazing how easily a person can succumb to reflected glory, detective. Although in a proper household no one of good breeding or taste displays photographs in their public rooms, having evidence of meeting someone who is your social better, rich or famous, is even better than collecting autographs-and easier to show off as well."

William noted that Mrs. Carter had previously expressed similar, cynical sentiments.

Mr. Sherwood piped up. "You don't have time to print all those pictures, detective." The warning tone was obvious, and given more weight as another set of notes was heard from the clock in the hall. William's shoulders hunched in defense against the sound of the chimes. _That's it, I am cancelling my order for that clock!_

"That won't be necessary sir. All I need are the negatives. One of the advantages is that they are in a continuous line—establishing an order of events, even if not a timeline _per se._ " He looked at Miss Latcher. "I am going to guess that since you are trying to make a business of taking these sorts of photographs, you also own at least one of the new Kodak Developing Machines. I don't suppose it is in boot of your carriage in those boxes Mr. Perkins says you picked up fromn the train station before coming here?"

Relief flooded him when she answered affirmatively. William directed the DP officer to escort Miss Latcher and her assistant Mr. Perkins to her conveyance and bring in the developing equipment. Miss Latcher stood but would not be moved. Although not a large woman, she was sturdy and plainspoken. "What do I get out of this? I want my film back so I can fulfill my contract with the papers. The whole point of me being here today is to attract interest in the quality of my work… No other woman is doing what I want to do. I am not that interested in portraits, landscapes or advertisement. My _real_ interest is in the news. There are only a handful of professional female photographers of any kind in Ontario and if I fail with this contract I will never get another!" She cocked her head to the side and lifted her chin, defying anyone in the room to challenge her demands.

" _Murdoch!"_ Sherwood rumbled under his breath.

William stole a look at Julia who glared back with an icy-blue cast in her eyes. _Good grief! 'Between a rock and a hard place' as Inspector Brackenreid would put it. How do I get myself into these jams?_ He changed his orientation to Miss Latcher's countenance, coughed and made an opening bid on negotiation….


	5. Chapter 5

**-Chapter Five-**

 **Once he was alone with Sherwood and Julia** , **William announced** : "Mr. Sherwood, the bargain was worth Miss Latcher's cooperation. In under thirty minutes we can eliminate the rolls of film we are not interested in, have negatives prepared, and begin matching the presence or absence of the persons in whom we _do_ have an interest." _Finally!_ He now had a method for zeroing in on who was in the garden and who had opportunity to kill Mr. Burke, and match that to the list of individuals with motives that Sherwood provided.

He clapped his hands in excitement, turning to his wife. "Dr. Ogden, will you please examine Miss Latcher's logbook of photographs with Mr. Sherwood to select the proper rolls of film, while I gather up Miss Latcher and prepare to create negatives?"

William made good on his prediction. Julia and Mr. Sherwood selected five rolls of film which were believed to best fit the time of death window to see exactly when Mr. Burke disappeared from view. A little more than thirty minutes later the first two sets of negatives were drying, causing even Commissioner Sherwood to be impressed by the swift result. Miss Latcher's silence was bought with the promise of an exclusive story, which she jumped at, despite not knowing a thing about what was happening other than it was BIG. Her sense of adventure was stirred, so after she showed the detective how to use the Kodak cylinder and chemicals for turning the film into negatives she acquiesced to waiting with Mr. Perkins, albeit under guard, in the private family quarters behind the front hall's fireplace, soaking up as much atmosphere as she could, while pummeling Mr. Perkins to tell her everything that transpired between him and the detective.

While the negatives were processing, Mr. Sherwood had quietly peeled off and sequestered his six suspects in separate rooms under the pretext that Mr. Taggert wished to have a word with them that would prove a financial benefit. _And would they be so kind as to wait until the charity affair was over and the rest of the guests departed for a very special private meeting?_ Each of them went along with it, uttering nary a protest, especially after whiskey and cigars were offered while they cooled their heels.

" _Work fast, detective. We cannot afford to let them go and we also cannot hold them,"_ Sherwood had admonished.

William was not surprised: _Such was the power of wealth and position._ William did not bother to hide his irritation this time since he knew the problems very well. He and Julia decided to use the billiard room to create and examine the negatives as it offered a copious closet for a dark room and excellent light for looking at the images, was private enough, and came with the advantage of the chalk board to organize their findings. William had six columns on the chalk board, one for each suspect with alleged motive next to it. One was about "love" and five about "money." A timer secured from the cook ticked off until the next batch of film was ready.

William peered at the seventh negative while Julia read its description. "This is the first entry about a photograph mentioning Mr. Burke. It says Caleb Burke is standing to the right of Mr. John Strathearn Hendrie and his wife, Lena. I believe he was Hamilton's Mayor last year. Do you see Mr. Burke?"

"Yes I do…Good. We know Mr. Burke is alive here. Now we go to any other mention of Mr. Burke…" William asked Julia to flip to that notation.

"The last mention of Mr. Burke was in a shot with Mr. Adam Zimmerman, who it appears is going to run for a seat in the House of Commons next year according to the description here. In the background is supposed to be the speaker's dais. There is a side note- 'Pennsylvania'—I assume that means that Mr. Zimmerman was originally from the States?" She flipped the page back. "That should be the second to last image on that roll."

"Got it! Excellent. We have documentation that Mr. Burke was alive and well up to that point. In the larger crowd shots I see the distinctive shortbread trays making the rounds. Where is our first suspect…?"

William's plan was straightforward. Miss Latcher took pictures of individuals as they arrived at the party to shake hands with the various dignitaries and important people, including Mr. Taggert. This established who showed up in what order. Visual details in the background of her pictures were compared to what they knew about the time when the shortbreads were served. Anyone who came in to the garden too late to have been able to toss Mr. Burke over the balcony was eliminated as a witness or suspect. With the addition of Miss Latcher's photographs of the crowds taken at regular intervals, it was possible to track whether or not an individual remained in his seat or was visible in the shots. If any of the six suspects went missing during the period of time that coincided with Mr. Burke's demise, then William planned to interview him.

While they worked, Julia spent some time speculating out loud about motives for the killing. "It seems Mr. Burke had no trouble worming his way into Hamilton Society. He theoretically came here to better himself. It's a shame, really; if he had stayed in Virginia would he still be alive today? "

"Yes, I suppose. He attracted attention while he was here, obviously of the wrong kind." William contemplated his new chalk grid, listing all the confirmed evidence to one side, then picked up the next length of negatives. "Let us look for Mr. Gregory Sanford. Which number negative is he in?"

Julia sought his name in the ledger. "Let's see-look for him in number twelve. He should be chatting with the current Mayor."

While William traced through the images, he listened to Julia's continued musing. "It would be helpful if we had a better handle on the motives for killing him."

"Yes," she grunted. "Motives…Gambling…Drinking… _Womanizing!_ According to Mr. Taggert, one would think that his education in the ways of the tobacco business should have kept Caleb Burke sufficiently out of trouble." Julia's head came up, presenting the portrait above the mantle to her view. She squinted at the image and made sound of disgust. "Then again, Endeavour Taggert could never imagine anyone daring to do anything that went against his wishes. Perhaps if Mr. Taggert discovered his protégé acquired interests outside of what the old man approved, he'd be tempted to push Mr. Burke over that railing himself." She finished acidly, "I believe he is quite capable of single-minded pursuit of a goal and demand others follow or be tossed aside!" Julia's voice rose sharply at the end, so she paused and tried to calm herself down.

William found Mr. Sanford's image and then traced it through to the end of the film, locating him in the background, while listening intently to Julia's words. He was taken aback by his wife's bitterness about the Taggert patriarch, wondering if he should explore this issue that upset her so. Working together today had broken loose the uncomfortable log jam in their communication, and he wanted to keep it flowing, so even though it was a distraction from examining the evidence, it made sense to him to broach the subject for her insights. "Julia, what bothers you so much about Mr. Taggert, senior?"

" _Because_ , William! I feel so badly for Dennie. It was awful-enough how he dominated her life, and the lives of everyone around him when we were girls." She crossed her arms and her eyes flashed in anger. "Later on, when it was clear she and her husband were never going to have children of their own she wanted adopt. She was _so_ excited…then it all collapsed." Julia snorted. "You _know_ how some men are about their legacies...her father was actually going to marry again to have more children, but then died suddenly. Well, then her grandfather objected to adoption when there was no more hope of a male grandson, putting the focus on having male great-grandchildren instead. William, his youngest granddaughter, Joy, is only seventeen and is going to marry a thirty-year-old company executive in hopes of a new son-in-law and source of an heir for Endeavour Taggert. More pointedly, Mr. Taggert put his words into action by stipulating only male offspring from his 'flesh,' as he put it, could ever inherit from him. It devastated her, William. She loves her grandfather and is she devoted to this family… so it broke her heart." She shook her head to clear the emotion leaking from her eyes. "Her husband was a good man, but he also passed away before she could persuade him to go against her grandfather…." Julia stopped, standing stiffly and defiantly next to him while trying hard not to stamp her foot. " _Men…!_ "

"Julia, I…" William started to object but she steam-rolled right over him.

"That large stained glass window you admired again as we walked up here? Dennie's father commissioned it. It is nominally the Goddess Persephone in her garden. In _reality_ the central figure is a portrait of his mother, Myrtle, whom he hardly knew as she died in childbirth when he was only three. The four cherubs featured in the transoms are his four surviving daughters—memorialized as perpetual, ineffectual children. The whole thing is supposed to be a family portrait of sorts, but I think it is ghastly." Julia remained red-faced. "Merit Taggert kept marrying and producing offspring, looking for the grandson his father wanted so desperately." She swung her arm around the room. "He built this whole house to aggrandize his father, right down to the oval ballroom and an oaken dining room that can seat thirty, so his father could preside over his descendants from the head of a grand table. Except none of them were good enough because they were of the weaker sex! The five blue and five red flowers on either side of the middle portion of coloured glass represent the all the dead wives and children who were sacrificed to gratify Endeavour Taggert's vanity for male offspring." Her chest was tight and her mouth dry. "Eleven women and children dead in a relentless desire for sons… _It is_ _horrid!"_

Julia made a supreme effort to stop herself from going on. She was dangerously close to spilling more of her mind to William about this whole business of motherhood and fatherhood. _I am being unfair to him to withhold my true thoughts-how often has that resulted in disaster? He has no idea what is under my skin and should have every reason to believe we settled it all this summer whilst on our cycling vacation together_. Yet, still, she bit her tongue. _Spending time with Dennie and on this case has rattled me._

William crossed over to her and took each of her arms in his hands. He was absolutely appalled, as well as feeling he needed reassure himself there was no other subtext in her outburst, and reassure _her_ if there was. "Are we talking about Mr. Taggert or are we talking about us, you and me?" He made her look at him so she would read his eyes.

She just slumped her shoulders. _I am so conflicted about this. Do I tell him I have learned medical science has advanced to the point where there may be a way for me to have his child? But that it would also risk my life?_ "I…" she wavered, then changed her mind. "I am sorry William for losing my composure. The inequity of it all makes me angry, I suppose. This is why improvement in care for women and children is such a passionate cause for Dennie and why I naturally support her in this."

William guessed that was probably true; knowing there was definitely more going unsaid. "Julia. I hope _you_ know that for me fatherhood is more than passing on my… biological traits…and more than a sign of virility. I do not need that. I promise I will be very satisfied with the child we choose, boy or girl, for us to raise together." His thoughts churned, hoping to comfort her without knowing exactly what her distress encompassed, and flummoxed about what to say. He felt her relax a bit in his arms and cling to him for a minute, before she released him and dried her eyes.

"Yes, William," she smiled tentatively. "I promise we can talk about this more, but your alarm went off and we have film to look at without much time." _And before we talk I must know my own mind…_

He searched her face and agreed, reluctantly, because he knew this was only over for now. "All right." As he fetched the film and put the last batch in, he let her insights about Mr. Taggert register a little deeper. "Do you really think there could be a motive for Mr. Taggert to do in Caleb Burke? I wonder if we need to consider that." He brought out finished rolls to dry.

Julia sighed dramatically. "I put nothing past him, William. He relies heavily on Dennie in business as well as for the family. Without her the business would have faltered… and gives her no credit for it. He belittles Charity for being unmarried, and turned his back on Mercy when her young son died of pneumonia. Murder? I am hardly a fair judge of the matter…" Julia caught herself becoming agitated again, so she took a moment to regroup.

She returned to the case. "…What if the issue was that the killer knew you were coming and assumed you would talk with Mr. Burke in the course of your duties?" Her eyes brightened. "Or what if Mr. Burke made an ultimatum of some kind or threat he was going to talk with you and naively challenged the wrong person?" Julia was firmly in command of herself again and grateful to go back to the investigation.

"The killer might have taken exception to that. I do think that having eliminated any national security threats means that we have a mundane case." He looked at the chalk board. "The love motive posits that Mr. Armitrading confronted Mr. Burke about taking advantage of his sister- killed him in a fit of rage or a scuffle."

Julia looked with him at the board. "You know, we have left out the cook's statement there was a woman's voice she heard, however Mr. Sherwood identified no direct motives among the female contingent. Why should a woman have not done the deed? I am asking myself if that was Mr. Armitrading's sister's voice Cook heard?" She rifled through the photographic ledger again. "See if you can find Mr. Armitrading and his sister, Jane, in frame twenty-five in your next roll."

William squeezed the remaining moisture away from the negative and went to the proper frame. "Yes. I have them just arriving." He searched the remainder of the frames in both rolls of film. "They picked a spot and remained there. If they stayed there all through the final roll we can eliminate them."

He and Julia finished looking at all five rolls of negatives. The shortbreads came and went. The guests filled up the lawn. People took their seats. One by one, suspects were stricken from the list until there were a final two men with sufficient motive who were out of sight for the required time. Julia completed a rapid sort of the contents of Mr. Burke's room to provide insight into motive.

When they were both satisfied, he announced: "Julia, I think we are ready."

# # #

" **Mr. Sanford, you are being evasive."** **William's tone edged up sharply.** He hated it when other people cluttered up his interviews: the suspect's attention often got diverted away from answering his questions and on to showing off for the rest of the room. That was clearly the case for Mr. Gregory Sanford, whose eyes kept darting towards Commissioner Sherwood sitting by the window with the sun behind him, effectively concealing his face in shadows. Mr. Sanford knew, instinctively, that Sherwood was the real power in the room and it was undermining William's interrogation. "We know you had business with Mr. Burke today up on the third floor of this house, and we want to know what that was."

At Mr. Sherwood's insistence, they were first trying to get an admission of a meeting between the two men, then an explanation for where the suspect was during the time of the death, before disclosing the fact Caleb Burke was deceased. William was fairly certain that the Dominion Police were not going to want any public admission of this death occurring at an event they were guarding, if there was any way to prevent it. _I also think Miss Latcher is going to be quite disappointed about her "exclusive" story when it all comes down to it._

Mr. Sanford crossed and then recrossed his long legs. "I am not obliged," he said with a smile. "My business is my business. It is not in my best interests, gentlemen to divulge such information; if you must know the matter was private and successfully concluded, that is all. If it is so important to you, then ask Mr. Burke himself."

William got part one of his objective-a sideways admission of a meeting and no dispute it was on the third floor; still, he wanted to throttle the man's insouciance. "Mr. Sanford. I know that you are a gambler. In fact, I know that you make your living on all manner of games of chance, but you don't always win, do you? No. In fact, you owe Mr. Burke money, a great deal of money." He brought out a collection of slips from his pocket. William and Julia has a very productive search of Caleb Burke's room at Myrtle House, revealing a trove of clues, including betting slips signed by Mr. Sanford as IOU's. "I believe you argued with him about gambling on horse racing."

Mr. Sanford kept smiling. Commissioner Sherwood had said that his nick name was "Smiley" Sanford, now William knew why. "We might have had words. Private wagers between gentlemen are not illegal…"

 _Another admission that fits the witness statement._ At this point in most investigations William would lay out his evidence and, if warranted, an especially gruesome photograph of the victim to shake the suspect out of complacency. He'd missed the opportunity for a photograph and was tossing the idea around of making Mr. Sanford look at the corpse in the basement. _If the corpse is still there.._.

He decided he was not going to play by the Commissioner's rules any longer. He looked right at Mr. Sanford: "No. They are not. But murder is…"

Unfortunately Mr. Sanford just kept smiling. And smiling. William came forward to block his view of Mr. Sherwood, demanding the man's full attention. "Mr. Burke is dead, Mr. Sanford, and you killed him to prevent him speaking with me!" William was most gratified to see the smile on "Smiley's" face run away faster than some of the horses he bet on.

"Now wait a damned minute," he sputtered. "I did no such thing!" at the same time Mr. Sherwood growled his disapproval.

William ignored that was well. "You and Mr. Burke disappeared from the party and only you returned. "You don't deny you argued about gambling and were up on the third floor. Why did you do it, Mr. Sanford? You pushed him in a fit of rage, perhaps? Or did you mean to impale him on the staircase."

" _Impale him?"_ Gregory Sanford was instantly white faced and sweating. He shook his head in denial. "No! I mean, we argued, yes. But we came to a…mutual understanding."

"How is that? He kept your IOU's and he had no payment on his person, so how could you have possibly settled your debt?" William kept his face as close as he could to crowd the obviously frightened man; he only required a tiny opening for the lever needed to crack this man wide open and get a confession pouring out.

Mr. Sanford had his hands splayed on the arms of his chair. William saw him blink and take in a breath, then let it go in a long harsh sigh. Afterward, to William's disquiet, the smile started to take effect again on Sanford's face. "Mutual-assured destruction," was all he said, his demeanor relaxing as he settled deeper in his chair and checked the timepiece in his waistcoat, snapping the case shut with a flick of his wrist and a flash of teeth. "Let me tell you a little more about your boy, Caliber Burke…"

# # #

 **"The problem is, I believe him."** William paced in front of the fire place. Out of the bay window he spied the outflow of guests leaving the charity event and getting into carriages or walking back to their own homes. It still rubbed him the wrong way that none of those individuals was interviewed; to William is was a long colourful line of suspects and witnesses draining out of his case.

"I do as well," agreed Sherwood. "It makes sense in a convoluted way. Sanford accused Burke of cheating. Burke had a hold over Sanford because of the gambling debt. Conversely, if Mr. Taggert learned of Burke's gambling on horse racing, or worse yet a whiff of cheating of any kind, it could likely ruin his business partnership with the Taggert tobacco empire. As I said before: Endeavour Taggert is as flinty a businessman as draws breath but he will not tolerate anything illegal or improper and certainly not out-and-out cheating, even if he was as fond of Burke as everyone says. If anything, Burke had more to lose, giving him a strong motive to shut Sanford up, not the other way around. They both had each other by the short…er, I mean, their threats cancelled each other out."

William winced at the implied analogy and could not disagree. "He says he went down the main staircase and to the garden through the ballroom, and that on his way down he heard the sounds of people coming up the back staircase. I can't imagine someone unfamiliar with the house using the servant's passages." He saw Sherwood roll his eyes indicating his opinion of the mansion's configuration. "That also fits with Mr. Howard, our remaining suspect."

"Better yet, Mr. Howard's suite is on the third floor and he has a strong motive, if we can credit Mr. Sanford." Sherwood continued. He slapped his hands on his upper thighs and stood up, smiling. "This turns out to be a domestic case after all, eh, Detective?"

"What about the cook overhearing a female voice?" Julia had a good point earlier, and William did not like seeing all those women leave the premises.

Sherwood's shoulders moved up and down. "That also brings it back down to someone in the household since we ruled out Mr. Armitrading and his sister, and no other female acquaintances are known to have enough motive. Perhaps Cook got confused or it was not Mr. Burke and a female at all."

William concurred, irritated at Sherwood's relieved grin. "I think we now have enough to turn the whole case over to the Hamilton Constabulary. We have the body, trace evidence, the film, and a suspect with motive and opportunity." Even though he said the right words, he discovered he was balking at turning over the investigation. "They need to secure Mr. Howard and confirm witnesses." He turned to Sherwood, clasping his hand behind his back. "Sir, would you like to make the call or should I?" _I suspect the commissioner will delay the inevitable again, the question is, do I want to continue or should I leave well enough alone?_ William was not certain, but waited without betraying his anxiety.

"Detective! I am surprised at you. May I remind you, you have not been relieved of duty; by my calculation you have a little more time. It also turns out I am interested in the results of your interrogation of Trevor Howard, aren't you?" Sherwood asked mildly.

William noticed right away his curiosity was being baited, again. _No matter. I've missed my train as it is, and Julia is still here…._

He accepted the challenge. "This time we are going to do this my way, Mr. Sherman. Please have one of your men locate Mr. Howard and escort him here. I will get my wife."

# # #

 **A long wooden library table was laid out with a folder** containing Mr. Sanford's statement, notes from Julia on the body, and a tray containing trace evidence. William placed Trevor Howard facing the window so the full light of day fell on his face, and William sat opposite so his own body was back-lit. Mr. Sherwood and Julia sat behind the suspect, out of view. William did not so much as ask questions as lay out his case, piece by piece, while watching the other man's reactions.

Mr. Howard trained for the law before going into the employ of Mr. Taggert. _He may have been a lack-luster solicitor, but he knows his right not to speak, and is holding up well_ , in William's estimation. _All right. So he refuses to tell us where he was and what he was doing. I have my methods…_. The first crack came when a description of the corpse was presented, with fear showing in the man's eyes and his hands pushing him away from the table. Offering a trip to the basement to view the damage resulted in the man gagging. After a nod from Julia, William pressed his advantage. "I think I can tie you to the crime, Mr. Howard. You have not given me any alibi for the time of death. I believe if we examine your clothing under a microscope we will find trace evidence that will match what was found on the body. That chalk dust, for instance, on your suit. It does get everywhere, does it not?" William saw Mr. Howard surreptitiously wipe his palms on his trousers. "And you had motive. According to my several sources Mr. Taggert favoured Mr. Burke over you. This interloper from another country was edging you out, wasn't he? Going so far as courting one of his granddaughters just as you have done. Perhaps even Miss Joy…?"

Julia had suggested Mr. Burke was ambitious and flirtatious indeed, after examining his effects and scanning the correspondence and papers filched from his room at Myrtle House. In her professional opinion it was very likely any man might have found Mr. Burke too forward with the ladies and become jealous of the attention paid to them. William got the reaction he was waiting for when Trevor Howard's composure ruptured.

"Caleb Burke was a trouble-maker! He was too interested in the family, asking a lot of impertinent questions. Whenever he came over here he never seemed to know his place, behaving much too familiarly… At first I thought it was just because he was an American, a rude one at that, but I have seen him be so slick and polite when he wanted to be, and crude and pointed when that suited him… I considered that Mr. Taggert was getting dotty and being taken advantage of by this outsider... Was he really who he said he was? Anyone could have written a sycophant-ish letter and scraped an acquaintance… Mr. Taggert generously opened all doors for that man and in return he acted like he was owed even more, always poking around…."

When Mr. Howard finally paused to take a breath, William introjected. "I take that as a 'yes'?" He learned when someone talked their way around answering it was to avoid the truth. As Howard choked on a reply, William went for the final jabs. "He lured you to the third floor. You argued. It got physical. Did he taunt you, Mr. Howard? _**What happened**_?" William's hand slammed on the table sending his suspect jumping in place.

"I did not harm him! I swear! We argued, yes, because I caught him coming out of the third floor office. He was rifling through desk drawers. I gave him a piece of my mind and he laughed, the insolent bastard!" Howard went from indignation to bluster. "I would have thrashed him but Joy and Miss Charity came to fetch me down to meet Mrs. Hoodless who was due to arrive soon. Joy and I went straight down."

William just stared, nonplussed. _He has an alibi, and effectively offered up his soon-to-be sister-in-law as the new suspect?_ If this was accurate, they now had a new, much more narrow window for time of death—instead of an hour it was a sliver of an hour between when Mr. Burke could have been pushed to his death and when the butler, Mr. August, was estimated to have found him that way.

"Mr. Howard," he said evenly with great effort. "You could have said that earlier."

# # #

 **The three of them were in the billiard room,** huddled anxiously around a long strip of negatives. "Julia! We have it!" William checked the film twice, chastising himself for his previous lapse in attention. "Mr. Howard and Miss Joy Taggert disappear separately and reappear together; Miss Charity Taggert only returns to the garden to take her place on the dais after Mrs. Hoodless arrived." Joy Taggert had already confirmed her fiancé's story. He erased all the other columns on his chalk board. "I think we are back to a love motive. Miss Joy and Mr. Howard heard her sister, Miss Charity, having a row with Caleb Burke. That explains the woman's voice the cook heard. She is our next interview." He happily handed the film and his magnifier to Julia for confirmation, and turned expectantly toward the commissioner.

Mr. Sherwood was disappointed… he'd had such hopes for the Toronto pair, but his Special Investigator's train was pulling into the station any minute, leaving no room for the case to continue. "I am afraid your time has run out, Detective, Doctor. My men will secure the house. We will give a story to Miss Latcher to sell to the papers and return most of her film except for the rolls which document your time line. She might even be able to get to her deadlines if we release her now." He reached for the remaining negatives and the ledger which identified who was in each photograph.

William's face fell. "But sir…"

"Detective, you have truly proven this is a domestic tragedy. I thank you and your country thanks you. I imagine when Prime Minister Laurier learns about your efforts he will personally thank you, and Dr. Ogden as well." His head travelled side to side. "But you are about to accuse the daughter of our host with homicide and it will be up to the Hamilton Constabulary to prosecute the case. I don't envy them. There is no provable motive and the family will form a tight ring of defense. I think it is best you let _them_ flail around at it rather than take it on."

Giving up the investigation grated on William's nerves. "I understand I have advocated from the beginning to turn this over to the local constabulary, however, as of now I feel we should continue."

"Detective, you want a third try at a suspect?" Sherwood was skeptical and sounded like it. "How many do you usually run through before you get it right?"

William was stung. _I expect a comment like that from the Inspector..._ He inhaled, feeling the need to justify his actions, if only to himself. _Disproving the null hypothesis is the scientific method after all_ … He searched for words to convince the commissioner, when a tap on the closed door distracted him. Julia opened it up to find Mr. August with a tight expression on his face.

"Madam, Sirs. Mr. Taggert requests you join him downstairs with his family." The butler did not wait for an answer, merely turned around and headed for the main staircase.

Julia saw him stop abruptly at the top of the stairs, before backing up like a cat and reversing to take the service stairs. _He cannot bring himself to pass by where Mr. Burke's body was,_ she thought sympathetically, _I know the feeling_. Julia had automatically balked at entering their suite at the Windsor when she got out of the hospital; her body refusing to go forward across the area where she had been shot, even though she knew there was no danger.

William saw his opportunity. "Mr. Sherwood. If we allow the family to take charge of the narrative, escape interview, or contaminate the evidence, we are subverting justice!" He stood upright and engaged the commissioner directly. "My replacement is not here and if the local constabulary takes over, your service loses control." William tried to keep his face bland. "You will have to explain to them how a murder occurred while your men were providing security…"

Sherwood was surprised at how strongly he reacted to that gambit. _So, Murdoch is as good at chess as my report says he is. Interesting_ … _And he's not wrong._ "Detective, your logic is inescapable. I yield…for now. If I told you to work fast before, make that double time now."

Julia felt the exhilaration at solving a case by his side had suddenly gone. _His logic, indeed._ Julia recalled all the losses her friend has suffered. _Poor Dennie, did her sister really do this? She said Charity was egregiously misnamed, but was still her own flesh and blood. For Dennie's sake, I hope William is wrong._ Julia pushed the disquiet away to look over at her husband, while absently pocketing the remaining five rolls of negatives and magnifier. "Shall we?" She sought his arm and together they descended, followed by Commissioner Sherwood past the elegant stained glass, beautifully executing such ugly symbolism, to the main floor where Mr. August ushered all three into the private family quarters.

A generous room boasting a curved wall with three windows topped by stained glass transoms of hunting scenes, greeted William. _More of Merit Taggert's masculine taste,_ he assumed. A Dominion Police security officer was posted by the door. _Hopefully to keep them from talking with each other about the murder_. Sherwood motioned to his man, gave him the film and the remaining ledger pages, and pointed to the door after whispering a few words.

Endeavour Taggert positioned himself to ostentatiously command the room with lesser satellites arrayed around him. William made an educated guess about their identities: to Taggert's right was a woman he took by her widow's weeds to be Mercy Pomfret, her black dress relieved only by a gold medallion around her neck, then Mr. Howard who was holding a young woman's hand indicating she was Miss Joy Taggert. On his left the remaining unknown woman had to be Miss Charity Taggert, conventionally pretty and red-eyed, nervously plucking her yellow skirts, then finally Mrs. Prudence Carter. Miss Latcher was nowhere in sight, but family photographs stood on every surface. William's eye caught a certain similarity is style to the photographs on Miss Latcher's negatives, guessing she was invited today to take the Society pictures because of the quality of her work and intimacy with the Taggert family.

William raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. Mrs. Carter was wearing linen trousers and vest over a loose white shirt; rather than masculine she seemed singularly feminine, having made the outfit her own and perfectly natural to wear. Her sapphire necklace gleamed from inside the open necked shirt. Mr. Taggert was pointedly not looking at his eldest granddaughter; he also did not offer any seats to William, his wife or Mr. Sherwood. William was certain that was just as deliberate.

Prudence Carter did the honours instead. "Commissioner Sherwood, Detective Murdoch, Julia—please be seated. My grandfather and I wish to thank you for joining us, and for your discretion…"

She was cut off by a grunt from Mr. Taggert. "Percy, I have told everyone about Caliber's death and expected an arrest. Is your new man not up to the job?"

William remained standing. _So much for not contaminating the witness pool…_ He noticed Mr. Sherwood did not appear to take any offense. "Mr. Taggert, to complete an investigation requires gathering all the facts. Detective Murdoch has some questions for Miss Charity. It seems she might have been the last person who saw Mr. Burke, alive," he answered casually, and gestured for William to proceed.

William was displeased in the extreme as this was not how he wanted to interview his suspect. He was bristling and about to resist when he saw Sherwood check his pocket watch; William had no trouble taking his meaning. _Now or never_. William sharpened his gaze and advanced, putting the focus on his quarry. He observed a slight variation in the sunny colour of her dress. Since the black and white negatives he examined gave no clue as to colour, he wondered if that was trace evidence on the clothing. He edited his questions rapidly in his mind to come up with a new approach. "Miss Taggert, if I may. Can you please tell me about your conversation with Mr. Burke this afternoon?"

Julia watched the wheels turning in William's mind, trying to predict how he will problem-solve the dilemma of insufficient time and constricted ability to conduct an investigation by his own rules. Turning her attention to the room, she made a sketchy psychological assessment of the _Gestalt_ of the group and then each individual, specifically studying her husband's target. She observed Charity's pout looked well-practiced, and unattractive, especially on a woman of her age. The 'room' was charged for action but Miss Charity exhibited none of the characteristics of a guilty conscience.

"Grandfather…?" Charity ignored William and Mr. Sherwood to appeal to the highest authority in the room. "Do I have to…?"

She got no quarter from him. Raising her eyes, she sighed and tried to deny it and Mr. Howard objected. "Miss Charity, Joy and I both heard you arguing with him."

William shifted to see Julia's friend jump upright, fists on her hips and eyes blazing, radiating exasperation. He automatically imagined Julia doing the same.

"Shut up, Trevor!" Prudence Carter hissed. "You fool! Haven't you done enough damage? Do you seriously think you can find a place in this family by acting this way?"

Charity stood as well with her fists clenched in her dress, her sister's support energizing her. "How could you? _Both_ of you?" She shot daggers at Joy and Trevor Howard. "Yes, I spoke with him. So what?" Mr. Howard's face reddened and he started to stand.

William regained control of the conversation before another argument erupted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Taggert was still, only his eyes moving. He returned to Charity. "Please be seated, everyone. Miss Taggert, what was the topic of your conversation?"

Charity tried again to get her grandfather to rescue her, but he remained unmoved. "He was alive when I left him, can't we leave it at that?"

"Miss Taggert, please answer my question," William asked flatly, his ears ringing at her choice of words.

Miss Charity seemed to physically waver before giving in with a bitter, waspish tone. "I confronted him about you, Mercy! I loved him from the first time I saw him." She started to cry and sank into her seat. "I just _knew_ he was the one for me, from the first time we spoke. Can't you understand that, Detective? Wanting to marry for love?" Since no one else offered, William handed over a clean handkerchief for her sobbing.

"Not again, Charity, why were you so jealous?" Mercy Pomfret regretted her outburst immediately.

William reoriented. " _Again_ , Mrs. Pomfret? To what are you referring?"

Mercy looked to Prudence, who shook her head in return. Mercy dropped her chin. "My sister misunderstood, I don't know why…"

"Why? WHY? That's not the first man you tried to steal from me! I overheard you and Caleb saying you were going to make your announcement this afternoon. It was of an engagement, wasn't it? What would he want with you anyways, a sad dry stick…" Her speech was wracked by ragged breaths.

"Good gracious, Charity. Not marriage, not at all. He was just being pleasant to you, but he had no interest in you—or me for that matter!" Mercy said, shock and amusement in equal measure, clearly not catching on to the implications. e wa

Julia saw Dennie try to intervene but Charity could not stop herself. "No interest in me? _Pleasant_ to me? I felt he loved me! I thought I finally found someone who loved me for me and who could also win grandfather's approval. Then I found out about _you_. How could you betray me that way, Mercy? You already had a husband," she wailed. "Can you imagine? He called me silly and spiteful. We had a terrible set-to and now he's dead…"

"Miss Taggert, is that an admission of guilt?" William asked softly, his voice penetrating the emotionally overheated room. "If we examine your dress, will we find pollen stains from where he grabbed you when you fought? Lilly pollen is notoriously difficult to remove…"

"No. Detective, stop this. Julia? Stop this!" Dennie asked. "All of you stop this. Don't say another word!" William saw that Julia had taken out the film negative as was furtively scanning them, paying no attention to her friend.

Mercy was open-mouthed in alarm. "You killed him?" Her voice rose to a shriek. " _You killed him?!"_ This time she was on her feet. "He was our _brother_ , Charity. We figured it out. He has a sovereign just like the one I wear-like we all received from father when we were born. Caleb and I were not going to announce an engagement, but that he was our long lost half-brother, come to join the family." She raised her gaze to Endeavour Taggert who remained implacable. "I knew you'd be so pleased about our discovery, grandfather …" She rounded on her sister. "And _you_ killed him…?"

"That is absurd!" Trevor Howard burst in. "You have no proof of his identity! He was a stranger trying to insert himself into the family and the business to take advantage of Mr. Taggert. We don't even know he was who he said he was. He could have been anyone; anyone could have known the gift of a coin was a Taggert family tradition. He was merely an opportunist …"

"Unlike yourself, Trevor? You don't seem to mind being used as breeding stock for the Taggert bloodlines… isn't that right, grandfather?" Julia heard Dennie's voice cut through as effectively as William's had, getting everyone's attention with her wry, cutting observation. "Wedding a child almost half your age to get a partnership in the Taggert empire? Hardly evidence of a strong character, but then that has been on display here, has it not?"

Charity was choking in distress. " _Brother?_ I agree, that is absurd. A coin? That is no proof. I would have known, I would have felt it…"

"Is that why you killed him? For leading you on? For courting you when he was actually your brother?" William asked. "I could understand the powerful blow that must have been." William was still seeking a firm admission of guilt and the real motive behind his death. "Perhaps you just reacted when he told you and it was an accident after all?" His eyes travelled towards Julia who held the deepest frown on her face. He allowed one part of his mind to worry about that, whilst the rest worked on the convoluted puzzle that was this case.

"He only wanted to belong to the family, he told me so…" Mercy remained focused and angry with Charity, who continued to sob and had not clearly denied doing the deed: what William came to interpret as a non-denial of the facts, meaning the facts were true. He was about to announce his intention of arresting her, when a clear, low voice drew attention to Prudence Carter, standing by a set of family portraits.

"Oh he wanted more than that. Much more than that. He called asked me to come upstairs so he could crow. Mercy, how could you have been so naive? He planned on announcing he was the bastard son of our father at the charity event today—to the press! To the whole town. To all of Society! Can you imagine? He wanted more than a ten percent share of the business. He planned on inheriting the whole affair—lock, stock and barrel. Well, I could not have that, could I?" Dennie looked at Julia for understanding.

Mr. Taggert finally roused himself. "Prudence! What have you done?" his gravelly voice croaked and he stood up, using the arms of the chair to brace him.

"Done? I have done what needed to be done, grandfather. What you would have done if someone threatened the business. Caleb was going to do two things: ruin the business and push all of us out of our inheritance one way or the other. If blackmail did not work he was going to openly campaign for inheritance—just as your Will specifies. That was probably what he was looking for upstarts in the office, and why he'd been poking around, Trevor. The problem is, grandfather, you only want sons. You denigrate Charity for not catching a man; lost interest in Mercy when your great-grandson passed away; matched up my sweet baby Joy, much too young to marry, to this spineless, lickspittle toady." Prudence pointed to Trevor Howard, whose eyes were round in disbelief. "Sons and grandsons…so many that three of our mothers died trying to give them to you…."

"While you actually run the business…" Julia came to her friend's side and held her arm. Dennie was shaking.

"There is no proof!" Trevor Howard kept repeating himself, and was ignored. His fiancée, Miss Joy left his side and chose another seat, wringing her hands in fear.

"Yes there is," said Julia. She looked at William to make him understand that she needed to bring forth evidence. She saw he trusted her and nodded once. She turned to Dennie, indicating the others in the room. "They are right. Anyone could make up a story about the coins; he might have been impersonating the real Caliber Burke; I suppose he could make the case that he was conceived in Virginia with the wife of his business partner since your father was there during the critical period of time. But it was more than that. Look at the photographs of your father, here. See the dimple in his cheek? And the portrait of your grandfather as a young man? The same crease in his cheek. It could not have seen it on his body after death, but," she produced a length of negative, "but I now see in these photographs taken today that he has the same feature—they are inherited features: father to son to grandson." Julia held Dennie's eyes with hers—blue to blue, and felt very angry.

 _Brilliant!_ William's visual mind assembled the negative frames he scrutinized into a set of moving pictures in his head and he knew instantly where his wife was going with this _,_ and he understood she was right. _Mr. Taggert had never referred to Caleb Burke's legal father, Edmund Burke as anything but Mr. Burke senior, I should have caught that omission before. He all but told me then that Edmund was not Caleb's 'real' father._ William compared his recollection of the photographic negatives to the portrait of a young Endeavour Taggert and the photographs of a clean shaven Merit Taggert. _Fathers and sons indeed. We have spent the day on the possibility that M. LaVergne was Mr. Laurier's illegitimate son as the spark for today's tragedy, when it was another family secret altogether._

Julia continued. "That is why there are no pictures of you, Dennie. It was not only because you were busy as hostess. You told William you were greeting guests with your grandfather, but he did not confirm that, did he? And that is why you sent me inside to fetch your fan, isn't it? You knew what I would find. Or was it you could not bear to see what you had done?" Julia saw defiance in her friend.

"I had to protect the business, protect my sisters, even protect you, grandfather, from the obsession you have about male progeny, no matter how unworthy." Julia and Dennie stood face to face, barely breathing.

In the airless silence, Endeavour Taggert shuffled forward, every ear straining for his words. "I already knew he was my biological grandson; I have _always_ known." The groaning sound in the room was sharp. "My son had an interest in an unsuitable person while he was on business in Virginia." His mouth formed words of disgust. "She had no breeding, no social standing at all. Merit even thought he loved her despite his engagement to another young lady I selected for him from the best sort of family." He shook his head in disbelief, apparently still angry his son defied him so many years ago. "My sentimental son gave Caliber's mother his own sovereign as a token of affection." He looked directly at Sherwood, hoping for understanding. "Don't you see? I could not let him bring someone of an inferior background into our family!" I offered a financial incentive to Edmund Burke to marry the woman to make her unavailable to Merit, and when Caliber was born a little too prematurely, I paid off Mr. Burke with a slice of the business and he was content with that, by all accounts raising Caliber as his own and reconciling with his wife. Merit never knew about his son, or at least I don't believe he ever did. I reckon Caliber's mother hinted to him about coming north to seek a fortune and carrying Merit's sovereign and an American Trade dollar with him as leverage."

Endeavour Taggert directed his words to Prudence. "I knew about his blackmail threats, but I did not care and told him so. I am an old man past being persuaded by threats. I had already come to realize you knew enough about the company that I changed my will to leave you and your sisters the business in trust for your sole use to protect you from losing your rights should you decide to marry or remarry," he shot a withering glance at Trevor Howard. "I have you, Prudence, installed as the company president. I just didn't tell you…" He took a long breath, muttering, " _What have I done…?"_ under his breath.

No one moved. The great hall clock-chimes sounded through to the hour as one man spoke. "Prudence Carter. I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Caliber Burke." Arthur Percy Sherwood got there before William could act, taking the deflated, tearful woman by the elbow and into the hall. The remaining sisters sobbed quietly. William had no idea what Endeavour Taggert was thinking, and discovered he did not much care. As a school boy he learned that the stuff of tragedy is where the hero brings his own doom down upon himself because of his actions and then must live with the consequences. He did not know if there were any heroes here.

# # #

 **-Epilogue-**

Julia's head ached. She sought fresh air through the open double doors which lead from the well-proportioned oval ballroom to the now empty garden, resting her eyes on blue and white flowers moving in a light breeze. Mr. Sherwood whisked Dennie (and the body and all the evidence) away. There was no actual premeditation, and Endeavour Taggert extracted a promise to have his granddaughter represented by the best barrister money could buy. Julia sighed and let her mind drift to her friend. _It was the best I can hope for. Now we have more, horrible things, in common—killing a man and going on trial for murder._ Recognizing William's footsteps coming up behind her on the parquet dance floor, she sank against him as he slid his hand around her waist. They were quiet for a minute, before she felt him getting restless again.

"Julia. We should go home to Toronto, there is nothing for us to do here," he offered to her ear.

She heard him, but her mind was still unsettled and refused to focus on anything. Today's events were excruciating enough without stirring up things between her and William. After a while she managed a bitter laugh at her delusion that was something she could control. _I was so excited about solving a case with him. Be careful what you ask for…_

In hopes of delaying the inevitable she separated a little from him to draw deeper into the grand room and run a hand over the smooth onyx mantle that matched the stone in the front hall. The ocher graining was dramatic, elegant… _much like Dennie_. She took in and let out a breath to clear her mind. "William," she said, moving back to him and pulling him into her arms for comfort, "this oval room reminds me of where we took dancing lessons all those years ago. That was the first time you held me." She found his face and they shared the memory. "Hold me now?"

William was pleased to do so, having no words to give her comfort. Even without music, William was able to imagine escorting her across the floor in sweeps of movement, melding their bodies together. He held her until she seemed to relax and her breathing became regular. "Julia. What can I do to help you feel better?" The distance between them that had narrowed before while they worked together on Caleb's murder was widening again, and he did not know why nor how to bridge the gap.

She sighed. _What can he do? I get frustrated with him for not being sensitive to my feelings when I am not certain what they are or I am in conflict about them. I want him to read my mind when I don't even know it!_ "I have been thinking about families. About fathers and sons, William. Does biology make a family? Are we fooling ourselves into thinking we can adopt a child and predict the outcome?"

William was thoughtful. "Predict? No. But like any experiment we can set the conditions, control some of the variables." He made a sideways smile. "This situation today has rattled you, hasn't it, more than about what Mrs. Carter did. Please tell me….?"

 _Here it is. Another opportunity_. "William," she hesitated. Her heart started pounding and Julia felt unhappily caught between excitement and dread. William was patiently waiting, calm, concerned, and steadfast, so… _I might as well say it._ "I have withheld something this from you. Considering the lesson I was shown today about the consequences of not disclosing important information, I believe I must." She felt tears threaten to start. _I am not a hysterical female! I will not cry!_ "William, I have learned there is a combination of medical breakthroughs that increase the likelihood of a successful pregnancy and live birth in women like me… It is now possible to surgically remove a baby from the mother safely, without her bleeding to death, and assuming sterile techniques are used, puerperal fever and infection won't kill her either… Dr. Kehrer developed the concept of the ideal incision site and Dr. Sanger developed the technique for suturing the womb… If those medical advances were more widely and properly practiced, both mother and child prosper… There is an eighty-five percent chance it might be possible for a woman like me to carry a pregnancy to term and birth a child, _your_ child, assuming that I could get pregnant in the first place… You so want a child, a son…" Julia forced it all out in nearly one breath.

She brushed a finger on her cheek, surprised to find tears while William rummaged in his jacket for a handkerchief to hand her. Accepting it, Julia started laughing, _A little hysterical after all._ "William! How many of these things do you have and what else is in your pockets?"

William was not going to be distracted. He pulled her closer so they could feel each other's hearts beating. "Julia. I want _you_. Period. I have no need for biological offspring. I have no fortune to pass along, no property to inherit. Fatherhood, for me, is not about that; it is about giving a child a good home with loving parents and the advantages I never had, forming a young mind and heart to prepare them for the future. If we had a biological child together he, _or she_ , would be an expression of our love, the both of us, but I believe that is also what an adopted family is about." He gathered her even closer, inhaling her sandalwood scent. "I would never want anything to risk losing you, ever!" _I knew about those medical advances, but the risk is too enormous. I should have known she'd be worried, but I believed we'd put all this to rest!_

"Are you certain, William? I am worried that we will not be allowed to adopt, so if this provided a viable opportunity for parenthood, and considering my age we would need to do this soon…." She clung to him and he felt her light tremble.

"We are not the Taggert family. We are not a replica of your family nor mine, thank goodness! You and I will chart our own destiny, unencumbered by the flaws we saw today, God willing. Come home with me, Julia. We have come this far and together we can figure it out."

William had no idea if he said the right thing, be he spoke with sincerity and hoped it was enough. Julia sank deeper into his arms and after a while they began to dance, swaying like the flowers outside in the breeze.

 ****END****

 _ **DEAR READER:**_ Thank you for travelling to Hamilton with me. I set the story in the building, currently the Scottish Rite Club, where The Murdoch Mystery Experience 2016 (MME16) was held. The event was spectacular and the four ladies who planned and executed it deserve all the credit in the world. You are amazing!

I have used the original 1895 house as a character in the story, (with just a few embellishments –I had to put Latin over the door for William-and made guesses, such as the kitchen & dumbwaiter.) The descriptions of the house, individual rooms and the stained glass are as accurate as I could make—I made up the "story" about the stained glass, but you can go on the internet and see the house if you like. (SEE INFO BELOW). Huge thank you to **Lovemondays** for her incredible research and attention to details about the beautiful house, where many, many scenes from Murdoch have been shot over the years (yes, including the dance studio where W  & J took those lessons.) She could not have been nicer, and this story could not have been done without her. All things I got right are due to her; any errors (and the choices) are mine, and she gets credit for co-creating the story and the main (invented) characters. Anything you liked is because she made it so; blame me for the rest.

Thank you to **GL** and **JH** for wanting to play! I hope you like "your" characters; you both honour me.

Thank you RomanticNerd for sharing your idea about caesarian sections for Julia to safely bring a baby to term-I hope next week is better!.

Bless you, dear beta reader, "Dutch." Many sets of eyes have gone on a search and destroy mission for typos—but a few always get through—I blame the negative hallucinations…

"The Taggert family" was inspired by the original owners of the house and they did get tobacco from the South during the American Civil War and introduced an assembly-line sort of factory for making tobacco products — however, my characters are a work of fiction, any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidence, etc., etc.…

 **Other "real" characters (Right off the internet! Has to be accurate, right?):**

Mrs. Adelaide Hoodless did all I said she did and much more and I have quoted her opinions.

Arthur Percy Sherwood, Commissioner of the Dominion Police did say he spent his time allying other people's fears.

Monsieur Armand LaVergne was suspected to be Mr. Laurier's son and Mr. Laurier did say that LaVergne would throw the English in the river—eventually Mr. Laurier threw LaVergne out of the Liberal party.

There were national security threats as I described in 1903-4.

I have used other actual residents of Hamilton as well, a couple Mayors and members of parliament/legislature.

 **THE SCOTTISH RITE CLUB:**

In 1884, the property was acquired by George E. Tuckett of the Tuckett Tobacco Company. Tuckett built his home, known as "Myrtle Hall", where the Grand Lodge building now stands. Myrtle Hall survived until the late 1950s, when it was demolished to make way for the current structure. In 1895, George T. Tuckett, the son of George E. Tuckett, built his own family home. Known as "The Towers," it was designed by Hamilton architect James Balfour. The Towers now forms the Club portion of The Scottish Rite building. The magnificent woodwork in the club was done by John Hoodless and Sons, a prominent furniture manufacturer in Hamilton at the time. Hoodless also built the incredible Tuckett Family dining room table, which was custom built for the dining room in which it still sits.


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